The Lost Boy
by SisiDraig - 2
Summary: After Ste's best friend, Callum, decides to go straight, Ste runs off to Ireland to a place he's heard about where criminals can go to be free. He settles in, makes friends and even meets a girl. Life is going well ... if only he could get rid of his unhealthy obsession with the boss. (AU featuring lots of HO characters in a very unusual circumstance.)
1. Prologue - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.I just like giving them new locations and situations to see how they react. **

**Notes: I listened to The Neighbourhood – Wires on endless repeat whilst writing this, so that should give you an idea of the mood of the fic. The first couple of chapters are a teenie bit slow, but Brendan shows up in Ch3. I think it's more exciting then - hopefully you'll persevere until then.**

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**THE LOST BOY **

CHESTER; SEPTEMBER 2012

This was it. There was no way they were getting out of this one. The sound of sirens was deafening and around every corner was another dead-end, another reminder that they were going to be caught. Ste's lungs felt like they were burning. His mouth tasted of metal and his legs slowing down without thinking. 'This way,' Callum hissed, and he felt a hand on his arm, dragging him away down an alley way. This place seemed familiar, too familiar. Brilliant! They were going in damn circles.

'Come on,' Callum muttered again. He kept pulling at Ste, kept shoving him and dragging him along. Ste would have given up by now if Callum hadn't kept encouraging him. Callum was always optimistic at times like this. Always believed they'd make it, always had some plan up his sleeve to ensure they did.

'Shit,' Ste whispered as he came out of the alley onto the cobbled streets to find two coppers waiting there. 'Go back,' he yelled spinning on the spot and shoving Callum back into the darkness.

There had to be a way out. There had to be. He was not going back to juvie, not for a couple of crappy DVDs and a ten year old DVD player.

"Let's rob an old foggie," Callum had said this morning. "It's low risk."

It sure as hell didn't feel like low risk now. There were police behind them, police ahead of them, police around every corner. They were so screwed.

'Stop,' Callum said suddenly. Ste didn't think quickly enough and crashed into the back of his friend. They clashed heads a bit, but it didn't hurt; not really.

'What're you doing?' Ste demanded, trying to encourage him to keep running. They couldn't stop.

'We're alone,' Callum pointed out. He was panting so hard that Ste could barely understand him.

'So?' Ste exclaimed. 'We've gotta keep moving. I ain't going back inside.'

'Shush,' Callum hushed him, grabbing the back of his head and shoving his other hand over his mouth like a gag. He was glancing around like a frightened meerkat, head snapping back and forth at each noise, each footstep. And the noises seemed to be coming from everywhere. 'I think we're surrounded,' he groaned, removing the hand-gag. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. 'Shit,' he muttered under his breath. 'How did things get this messed up, eh?' he whispered and Ste was just left shrugging.

'We couldn't have known she was gonna have burglar alarms, could we?'

'But why?' Callum growled, thumping the damp wall with the base of his fist. 'Why did she have burglar alarms? She didn't have anything worth taking.' He slung his rucksack off his back and opened it. It was like he expected the ancient DVD player might have somehow transformed into the latest iPhone and Mac computer. He let out a growl and smashed the bag against the wall. 'Stu-pid-bitch, stu-pid-bitch.' Each syllable was punctuated by the bag smashing against the wall. And then he stopped. Ste didn't know what to do. He'd never seen Callum this angry and out of control and now the other boy was just staring at the walls he'd just been hitting like it was made of gold.

'Is that…?' He muttered, pointing to some creamy white stains on the wall and half a smirk fluttered across his sharp features. 'Where are we?' he asked suddenly looking about for a street sign. Ste glanced around too. They were on Manchester Street. He already knew that. He recognised it from that one time when he was fifteen and he'd walked down here by accident but he didn't need Callum to know about that story. 'Is this Manky Street?' Callum asked. That was how the people of Chester knew it. 'Where the rent boys work.'

'I don't….' Ste went to shrug. He was about to deny any knowledge of this place, but it was at that moment that the first policeman rounded the corner and that Callum put a hand in the middle of Ste's chest and shoved him backwards. He almost stumbled over the rucksack, but the disgusting wall stopped him from hitting the ground and before he had chance to shout or argue, Callum had pushed their mouths together in desperation. Ste didn't know how to react. He just stayed pinned against the wall, unsure what to do with his hands or his mouth or his eyes, which were open and staring. What the hell was going on? And then he saw a policeman run past them, then another and another and another.

Shit. They were getting away with this.

The police were looking for thieves, not dirty queers. They weren't even glancing twice at the two faggots making out on Manky Manchester Street. And when Ste realised that, he relaxed into the kiss. He found himself closing his eyes. He found himself kissing back. He almost found he was enjoying it. And then it was over. And Callum had pulled away and was grinning, with a look shining in his eyes like he was drunk.

'Woah,' he was beaming. 'That was intense.'

'Yeah,' Ste nodded. He couldn't help from staring at Callum's lips. They were red and slightly swollen and the skin around them was prickled with little red dots. Ste knew that he was responsible. And before he could monitor himself he'd said: 'What were that kiss about?'

Callum fixed him with a look of confusion.

'Not getting caught,' he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'I just can't believe it worked,' he shook his head smiling.

'So it didn't mean anything then?' Ste heard himself say and for a second he wondered if he should just cut his own tongue out to stop him talking. He'd always had this problem, he always had to talk, to ask questions.

'Mean anything?' Callum looked predictably disgusting. 'What would it mean?'

'Nothing,' Ste shook his head quickly. 'Just checking you aren't queer, aren't I?'

'Queer,' Callum laughed. 'Do I look queer?'

'Nah.' Callum just reached over and ruffled Ste's hair, like he was his goddamn dad or an annoying brother. 'You're so weird sometimes, Ste.'

'Ger'off,' Ste groaned, slapping his friend's hands away. The other boy seemed too happy to notice Ste's embarrassment.

'Man, I thought we'd had it,' he laughed eventually, running his hands through his longish mess of hair before flopping back against the wall next to Ste. He gave the bag of broken DVD player a bit of a kick. 'Wish I hadn't smashed that up now.'

'Yeah,' Ste half nodded. He still felt a bit too dazed to talk. 'Bit stupid, weren't it?'

'Alright,' he groaned, nudging him a bit with his elbow. 'Maybe it was for the best though, eh? That was too close.' He flopped his head backwards against the wall. 'I can't go back inside, man, not for anything.'

'Me neither,' Ste agreed. That place had almost destroyed him. His friendship with Callum had been the only good thing to come out of it. It hadn't even set him on the straight and narrow, he was still running from the police. He was still thieving out from under old people's noses. He was still starting fights and scamming the government for everything he could get and he still loved it. It gave him a buzz like no other. Right now, having escaped the cops, laughing with Callum in Manky Street, this was the kind of thing he lived for.

Ste barely noticed the ringing of Callum's phone. It was playing "S&M" by Rhianna, which was the ringtone when his slut of a girlfriend Hannah called him. Callum insisted the song was a joke between them, but Ste knew Hannah was just a whore with a love for bad boys. She'd tried it on with Ste before she'd moved on to Callum. Ste had just shoved her back. He preferred girls that didn't come with a complimentary side dish of chlamydia. Ste usually ignored Callum when he was on the phone with the skank, but he couldn't this time. Callum had clutched his arm like he thought he was going to faint and when Ste glanced up at him, he noticed his friend had gone a particularly ill shade of grey.

'Everything okay?' Ste muttered. Callum just hissed "shhh" at him before continuing his conversation with the phone:

'Are you sure? Where are you? Okay, we'll be right there. Me and Ste.' And after a long pause, he let go Ste's arm and said: 'Okay, no you're right, you're right. I'll be there. Just me.' And: 'It's just the three of us now babe, I promise.' He hung up. His earlier grin had totally faded and he was just looking at Ste as though he was trying to figure out whether this was some kind of complex dream.

'Well…?' Ste encouraged eventually. 'What's happened?'

'I'm going to be a dad,' Callum whispered. He didn't seem too happy about it. 'Hannah's just found out, she was feeling really ill this morning so her sister took her in. I've got to get to hospital.' He grabbed Ste's shoulder and shook him a little and suddenly he was smiling again. Maybe he was happy after all. Ste wasn't, he could already see his future disappearing. This was going to change everything, but Callum didn't notice his feelings. He was too busy shouting:

'I'm gonna be a dad!'

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**Happy St Paddy's Day! It seemed appropriate to begin a fic that will mainly be set in Ireland today. Hope you enjoyed, like I said, it should get better.**


	2. Prologue - Part 2

**Thanks to everyone who read and thanks to the people who took the time to review. I really appreciate all opinions and advice.**

**Only one more chapter of Ste and Callum and then we'll get to the good bit ... Double B! **

**Hang in there with me.**

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HOLLYOAKS; DECEMBER 2013

Ste was out of options. The police were crawling all over him, all over his life. They weren't chasing him anymore, they were just waiting for him to come to them. They were waiting for him at the pub, waiting for him at the shops, at his home. It was different from all the other times he'd been in trouble with the police. Between his last run in with the pigs and this one, he'd turned eighteen. They weren't waiting to cart him off to juvie, with its well-meaning counsellors and fourteen-year-old hard knocks, they were going to take him to prison to do real, hard time with real, hard men. He couldn't do it. It would kill him, he was sure of it.

He was driving too fast, but it was only Hollyoaks. There weren't many people who lived here and as nosey as they were, not many of them liked to take their issues to the police. He couldn't imagine anyone calling to report him for speeding. But it wouldn't matter if they did. He'd be safe soon, back with old friends. He pulled into the carpark, abandoning the car across about four spaces. He didn't bother to lock it. It was hardly worth stealing anyway. Then he got out and walked up to the little block of flats.

He'd only been here once before, when he'd spent the day not helping the moving van driver, but he hadn't forgotten it. He knocked and waited. It was early evening, he knew they'd be in, even if there were taking forever to answer. He knocked again. The door opened and a blonde girl with a baby on her hip was beaming up at him. Or at least she was beaming until she realised who he was.

'What are you doing here!' she demanded, turning the baby slightly away from him. What was she expecting him to do? Eat it? He'd struggle, it was a fat, podgy creature with the eyes of a demon.

'Nice to see you too, Hannah,' he scorned, pushing his way inside the ugly little council flat. 'Callum in?'

The place was horrible, all browns with the occasional orange splodge. It was typical council décor; 70s flower power chic with a splodge of depression and a sprinkling of misplaced optimism. He didn't need to wait for Hannah to answer. He quickly found his friend. He was at the sink washing dishes. He looked like a pathetic little house-husband and Ste felt a bit sick. He'd always admired Callum, now look at him.

'Ste,' he gasped when he saw him, pulling off his marigolds. He ran a hand through his hair, but it was short now and Ste found it just didn't have the same cutesy boyish affect it had had when it was longer. Then he frowned and glanced suspiciously through the netted curtain to the horrible muddy gardgen, before turning back to Ste. 'What are you doing here?'

'Not bringing the police to your door, if that's what you think,' Ste sulked, jumping up and sitting on the side counter.

'Oh,' Callum bit his thumb a little. 'Could you not?' he said, pulling a bit at Ste's arm, forcing him to get down. 'I just cleaned it, and we've got to keep things clean for little Lexi.'

'Lexi,' Ste snorted suddenly. He couldn't help himself. 'You called your kid Lexi?'

'Yeah, it's a nice name.'

'It's a chav name.' There was an awkward pause. Ste filled it by looking around the kitchen. It was clean, tidy with little cookbooks entitled "feeding a family on a budget" and other similarly sickening things dotted around. There were a couple of pink toys scattered about as well as a dummy with a crown on it. It seemed Princess Lexi was in charge of this house. It was disgusting.

'Look,' Callum said eventually, and Ste knew he must have been getting the hurry up from his slut of a girlfriend. 'What are you doing here Ste?'

'Hiding out.' And without missing a beat: 'You know she's definitely going to become a stripper?'

'Who?'

'Lexi,' Ste answered. It was so obvious. 'It's a stripper name.'

The slap came as a surprise to Ste, but it probably really shouldn't have. He had just walked in to Hannah's house and then suggested her daughter was going to get a job in at the high end of the sex industry. Still, he hadn't anticipated it, which was why it stung like the bitch who'd delivered it.

'Hannah,' Callum warned under his breath, but she just beat him down with half a glare and he cowered to it.

'Aw, you've changed, you,' Ste scorned, rubbing his race a little.

'And you haven't changed at all,' Callum shot back, as though that was an insult.

'Because I haven't bent over backwards trying to please some bitch,' Ste shrugged.

He was vaguely aware of Hannah screaming and attempting to slap him again. He was also aware that Callum stepped in the way to stop her. He muttered something to her, something sweet probably. Back in the day it would have been a warning coupled with a threat. Those were the days when Ste had come first in Callum's life, but not anymore. Now Callum was no different to a McDonalds ice cream; soft and whipped.

Callum had taken Ste into his bedroom eventually. He'd sat him down at a small desk table and offered him a beer. He'd taken it, Callum had taken tea. It was all so wrong.

'What's happened to you?' Ste groaned, taking a long swig of the cheap piss Callum called beer.

'I've grown up,' Callum shrugged, smiling sheepishly. 'You should try it, it's fun.'

'Doesn't look fun,' Ste muttered, pointing to the dark circles appearing under Callum's eyes. 'Living with Hannah the spanner and some demon sprog has taken its toll on you.'

Callum sighed and took a sip of his tea. 'It's not so bad,' he said. 'Just yesterday, Lexi did the most adorable little burp.'

'Oh, well, do make sure you make a Facebook event if ever she does a fart,' Ste scorned.

He saw his old friend's face crumple. It was just a tiny insult, Callum used to be tougher than this. They'd go toe-to-toe for hours switching insults back and forth. Ste went back to drinking his beer and shuddered as the foul liquid drowned his taste buds. This was horrible for so many reasons.

'What are you doing here, Ste?' Callum asked eventually. He wasn't even drinking his tea, he was just stirring it slowly and staring at it like it might give him some life-affirming answers.

'I need somewhere to lay low for a while,' Ste answered. 'The pigs are all over me.'

'What did you do?'

'Nothing.'

Callum fixed him with a disbelieving stare, which made Ste smirk a bit.

'A tiny theft,' he admitted sheepishly. 'A few hundred quid out of the club's safe.'

'How did you get the combination?'

'The club owner,' he grinned. 'She was a right cougar. I could tell she fancied me, so I just kept hanging around in the office with her, drinking wine, telling her she was beautiful until I saw her put in the combination. It was just a matter of timing; and amazing sex.'

'Amazing?' Callum smirked, and for a second he looked like himself. 'How do you know it was amazing?'

'With me,' Ste winked. 'It's always amazing.'

'Arrogant son of a….' Callum trailed off, his eyes flicked towards the thin wall which was the only barrier between him and slag-Hannah and princess-Lexi. What was he afraid of? Did he think Lexi was going to have supersonic hearing and hear him swearing through walls? And even if she could here, she was about seven months old, she wasn't going to remember! What the hell had happened to Callum? Then he said something that destroyed Ste's world:

'You can't stay here.'

'What!' Ste almost exploded, slamming his bottle on to the table. 'What happened to us being best mates, eh? When you decided to be with Hannah, you said nothing was going to change.'

'I haven't seen you in over a year,' Callum protested. 'Every time I tried to contact you, I heard nothing back.'

'When!' Ste demanded. 'When did you try to contact me?'

'Erm, how about when I asked you to be Lexi's godfather?'

'Oh,' Ste muttered. 'That.'

He gulped his beer quickly. He had ignored that text, and the fifteen others asking if he'd received the first one. But it was laughable. Him. Godfather. When he didn't believe in God and he'd never had a father.

'I just assumed I wasn't going to see you again….' Callum whispered. 'And Hannah told me it was time to just forget you.'

'Hannah did, did she?' Ste almost laughed. He hadn't known it was possible to hate one person as much as he hated Hannah. She'd ruined everything.

'Don't be like that.' He sounded so weak. 'She's my fiancé.'

'What!' Ste shouted. This was all too domestic and perfect and disgusting. He was hating every single word that slithered its way out between Callum's traitorous teeth. 'How? Why?'

'Because I love her.'

'Oh,' Ste pulled a face of disgust and wondered for a second if he was going to vomit. He wouldn't ask for a bucket, he'd just throw up everywhere and pretend to be sorry about it later. He didn't throw up, and for a second he felt disappointed in himself. So instead, he took a deep breath and said:

'I can't believe this, you know.'

'Believe what?'

'You. You were like a brother to me. And now look at us. You won't even let me hide out here until the police get off my back.'

'I can't risk Lexi getting dragged into that world,' Callum insisted and the worst bit was that he sounded like he meant it.

Ste found himself hating Lexi. Why did she get to have a dad who loved her? A dad who'd give up his old life, a life he'd loved, to keep her safe when Ste's dad couldn't even give up sleeping around to turn up to one sodding sports game or parents evening.

'There's a place you could go though,' Callum muttered thoughtfully. 'I mean, somewhere I've heard about.'

'What?'

'Remember that guy from juvie, Joel.'

'The Scottish prick.'

'That's him,' Callum chuckled a little. They'd had very different opinions about Joel, but then Ste had only really like Callum at juvie. Callum was too trusting in his opinion, too willing to talk to other idiots. 'He used to talk about this place, some town of criminals.' Callum smiled a little. 'I think he was exaggerating a little bit.'

'He usually did,' Ste muttered.

'Buuuut,' Callum continued firmly as he got up and began rooting about in a draw. 'There really is a place, or at least a guy. Loads of people go there to get away from the police … apparently.' Callum found a scrap of paper with an address scrawled roughly on it and handed it over: 'Here.'

'What is this?' he almost laughed, staring down at the address. This was the most insane thing he'd ever heard. A safe haven for criminals. And then he read to the bottom of the address:

'Ireland!' he demanded.

'It's the perfect place for you to go,' Callum whispered, crouching down in front of Ste and putting his hands on his shoulders. 'You don't want to give up that lifestyle and that's fine, it is! But you need someone to watch your back, to hide you when you're on the run. I can't do that anymore but….' He pointed to the paper, which was hanging limply in Ste's hands. 'You'll find someone there who can.'

Ireland. It seemed like such a long way away and it would rain all the time, and he'd be surrounded by gingers and leprechauns and he'd have to leave his home. He'd have to leave Chester, leave Callum. He looked up at his friend. He'd been the only one who hadn't let him down, but he was letting him down now, pushing him away, kicking him out of his life. And Ste knew, he'd already lost Callum, his Callum. This wasn't his best friend, the one he'd worked with for years. This was some imposter using Callum's body to live this horrific version of a happy life. There was nothing left for him in England now. He may as well go….

'To Ireland,' he mumbled.

'That's the spirit, son' Callum grinned, squeezing his shoulder. 'You'll love it there.'

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**Reviews are always appreciated. **


	3. The Estate

**Warning: Macca is OOC – but really, who cares about him anyway, right?**

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IRELAND; JANUARY 2014

Brendan ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply. He felt frustrated and trapped, like rutting all morning hadn't given him enough of a release. But he wasn't really frustrated with himself, it was Macca. He didn't understand the lad. He'd screwed him slow when he'd pleaded, impaled him into the mattress when he'd begged. He'd licked, sucked and screwed in exactly the ways he'd demanded. He'd fulfilled every one of Macca's fleeting fantasies and now he wished the little princess would repay him the favour by leaving.

He wasn't even talking. That would be infinitely less annoying. No, Macca was just lying on his side, elbow bent so he could rest his head in his hand and just staring at Brendan. It was like he was hoping he'd start a conversation, or maybe tell him how pretty he looked in the dim light of an Irish winter that was coming through the window. Well Brendan wasn't going to say that. Macca didn't look pretty, not after they'd screwed. His face always blushed red in blotchy patches, his hair always stuck up in weird angles which did nothing for his prematurely receding hair line and he always had this goofy look in his eyes, which made Brendan want to punch him. He didn't always entirely manage to resist that urge.

'What are you looking at?' Brendan asked eventually. He hadn't really taken his eyes off the white ceiling, but he couldn't stay there in silence any more. It was driving him crazy.

'You.' Macca's voice sounded distant and dreamy.

'Well … don't,' Brendan muttered, reaching over to shove Macca in the face so that he fell onto his back.

'But this is when you look your best,' Macca continued. Brendan could hear his grin in his words: 'All sexed-up and rough and dangerous.' Brendan said nothing. He just worked really hard to repress a groan of boredom. 'How do I look?' Macca asked after a second.

'Dirty,' Brendan answered, knowing it would probably make Macca happy and have the dual purpose of not being a lie.

'I am dirty,' Macca growled. He was so predictable. 'I'm dirty for you, Bren.'

'Mm-hmm.' He didn't really fancy round four, not now the light was up and he could hear people moving around outside. The real world, or at least The Estate, was calling him.

'So … what should I do about it?'

'About what?'

'Being dirty.'

'Take a shower,' Brendan said, looking over at the other man. He watched Macca's face fall a little and then immediately light up. He knew where the boy's mind had gone before he even said it and he could have mouthed along with the flirtatious:

'I'll meet you in there, yeah?'

'No.'

Macca opened his mouth as though about to launch into some whiney protest but just then, there was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' Brendan yelled. He didn't care that Macca was strolling around the room naked and Macca didn't seem to care either. Warren did though.

'Oh god!' he shouted, as he caught an eyeful. 'You couldn't have made me wait until he was clothed?'

'No,' Brendan shook his head. Then he turned to Macca. 'Hey,' he called to him. 'Scram. Foxy and I need to talk business.'

Macca pulled an unhappy face but Brendan just ignored him. He wasn't in the mood for Macca's amateur dramatics, so he waited until he'd gone into the en suite bathroom and asked:

'How can I help you, Foxy?'

'You could put some clothes on and get up.'

'All in good time,' Brendan waved dismissively at him. 'What's happened?'

'There's been another fight down in Blue Zone. Larry seems to think he's some kind of boss down there, keeps throwing his weight around with the new boys.'

'Thinks he's the boss, does he?' Brendan asked, scratching his chin a little with his thumb. 'Interesting. Remind me,' he said suddenly. 'What's his speciality?'

'Arson,' Warren shrugged. 'Nothing special, torched a few buildings in London during the 2011 riots.'

'Arson,' Brendan frowned. That was the most cowardly of crimes, starting a fire and walking away. There was no skill to it. People do it by accident every day. Little girls do it when they forget to turn their straighteners off before leaving for school. 'Okay,' he thought out loud. 'Tell him, we want him to burn down the police station in Belfast. Tell him he needs to come up with a plan by the end of the week that we need to look through it before he goes.'

'We're attacking a police station in Northern Ireland?' Warren frowned.

'No of course not.' Sometimes he wondered why he'd surrounded himself exclusively with imbeciles. 'I just want him to come up with a plan so we can tear it apart. Show him how worthless to us he really is.'

'And if Larry's plan is good?'

'We're talking about Lawrence from Blue Zone?' Brendan clarified.

'Yeah.'

'Then it won't be good,' he said confidently. Lawrence was thick as pig dung, most of the people in The Estate were. That's why there were here though, wasn't it? Too uneducated for a real job, too stupid to successfully get away with crime. They needed someone to look out for them and Brendan Brady was that someone. He'd send them out all over Europe to complete petty crimes and then he'd take the profit in exchange for giving them a safe place to stay, food cooked for them and protection from the police. It was a fair deal and Brendan made millions in stolen money that he didn't even have to touch. It was the perfect set up.

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For a winter's Friday in Ireland, the weather was okay. There was no rain, and no threat of rain and although the air was cold, the wind had died down until it was nothing more than a gentle breeze. Brendan was on his balcony, long leather jacket with a fur ruff pulled around him. It was enough to keep him warm. He liked to be on his balcony as much as possible. The house he lived and worked from was further up the hill than the others and the balcony allowed him to see across all seven zones and they could see him. He'd be not much more than a spec to some of the outer districts, but it would be enough for them to know he was there; an omnipresent being.

Brendan heard the balcony door slide open behind him, followed by an overly pronounced shiver.

'W-what are you doing?' Macca barely managed to say around his faked teeth chattering.

'Just looking,' Brendan shrugged. And: 'Go back inside if you're cold.'

'I'd rather be with you,' Macca insisted, putting a hand on Brendan's arm. He immediately shrugged him off. No, not in public, not when people from the districts could see him. They might all know he was a queer, but they didn't need to see it. Macca sulked at the action, but he'd get over it. He always did. He shivered again, rubbing his palms up and down his biceps. He was only wearing a thin jumper; idiot.

'Can I have your coat?' he said after a moment. 'I'm gonna die out here.'

'No.' It was an obvious answer to a ridiculous question.

'But I….'

'Where's your coat?' he demanded.

'Inside,' Macca shrugged.

'Go and get it then.'

'I just thought….'

'…that I should freeze because you're too lazy to get your own jacket?' Brendan finished. 'Anyway,' he looked over to his scrawny companion. 'It takes a certain kind of man to pull off this jacket.' Macca just nodded. He was always so quick to agree but that wouldn't stop Brendan finishing his insult: 'You'd look like a wee girl.'

'That's no good. I might end up in Purple Region Zone.'

'Exactly,' Brendan nodded, turning his attention back to his estate. It was eerily beautiful. An abandoned well-to-do housing estate housing estate built for the emerging middle classes and destroyed by Europe's very own underclass. There were a few estates like this dotted around Ireland, big property developers getting over excited in the boom and getting screwed over in the recession. Still, one man's abandoned housing project was Brendan's private kingdom.

He'd made a fortune out of the unfortunate circumstances of "Leroy and Son Ltd." He knew it was them. There were a few bits of bent up scaffolding, which were holding a couple of the houses in Green District up, with the company poster tacked to it. They were cheap nasty things, for a cheap nasty company that had done a cheap nasty job on a nice area of Ireland.

'Brendan,' a voice distracted him. He turned and found Warren waiting patiently at the door to the balcony. Thick blue puffer jackets wrapped tightly around him. He looked like a child on their first day of school, whose mother had bought him a coat to "grow in to".

'Get lost,' Brendan said to Macca. 'The men have to talk business.'

Macca rolled his eyes and stormed back inside, almost shoving Warren out of the way.

'He's got a temper, hasn't he?' Warren remarked, raising his eyebrows. 'But I guess you like your boys feisty.'

Brendan just sighed and turned away from the other man. 'Get to the point, Warren.'

'Larry from Blue District; he gave me his plans today.'

'And?'

'It's nonsense,' Warren grinned, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper from his coat pocket. 'He didn't even have it written down, just came up and told me they were going to send Pete in….'

'The cripple?'

'Yeah, send him in with some lighter fluid so he could pour it over the floor.'

'That's not suspicious?'

'No,' Warren laughed, slapping Brendan on the shoulder. 'Because he's in a wheelchair.'

'Oh Lawrence, what a mastermind move,' he scorned.

'The rest of the plan's not much better,' Warren continued. 'It involves the rest of them running in with matches and dropping them on the lighter fluid.'

'Dropping matches?' Brendan frowned, though honestly that was just one of the smaller flaws in the plan.

'Dropping matches,' Warren nodded, pointing to a picture of a match crudely drawn on the crumpled scrap of paper. 'I made Larry write down his plan on paper. Turns out….'

'He can't write,' Brendan finished, standing shoulder to shoulder with Warren so he could better see the plan. Though "plan" was a frankly generous description of the mess of scrawls on the paper: a building, some matches, a fire and a lot … a _lot_ of pictures of penises. He screwed up his face, were these the kind of idiots he housed in The Estate? 'This looks like it's been done by a horny teenage boy.'

'Oh, I thought you'd have been into that,' Warren joked, digging his elbow into Brendan's side, which earned him a stony expression and a muttered:

'Funny.'

Though Warren clearly thought it was because he was grinning like a fool as he asked:

'So what do you want me to do, eh?'

'It won't take you long to come with a list of everything that's bad about it, will it?'

Warren shook his head, looking at the paper again. There had to be at least eight things Brendan had spotted just glancing at the paper, if he gave Foxy five minutes and a pen, he was sure he could come up with a long, long, long list.

'Good, do that,' he said thoughtfully. 'We'll speak to Lawrence at dinner.' And: 'Who's cooking tonight?'

'Blue Zone.'

'Ergh,' Brendan groaned loudly. 'Really. That lot can't cook for all the money in my bank account.'

'Yeah, well, they're crap at everything. They do the pettiest crimes, they haven't done time. We should have a cull, get rid of all of them.'

'We should?' Brendan frowned. He wasn't in the business of removing people from The Estate. He couldn't imagine trying to clear out the whole of Blue Zone based on the whim of his right hand man. But then Warren had always been much less empathetic than Brendan. Brendan believed everyone who came here was in his care and some twisted part of his brain, the Irish Catholic part, made him feel like he had to protect all of them.

'Yeah. Just a few of them, the ones that can only manage to steal a few frozen chickens from the local super market occasionally.'

'And if they weren't here, who would steal the chickens?' Brendan questioned. 'The guys in Red Zone think it's below them. Orange Zone are too unstable to be in public. Yellow Zone aren't hands on enough. Green Zone are too high all the time. And Indigo and Violet Zones do go out occasionally, when they're not getting angry about their rights as women.'

'Keep some of them then, but fill the ranks with Red Zoners.'

'Hmmm,' Brendan hummed in a bored tone, looking at his watch pointedly. 'Well,' he said eventually, when Warren still hadn't got the hint. 'Get lost.'

'Right,' Warren chuckled a bit, holding up the "plan". 'I'll just get on with this, shall I?'

'Exactly,' Brendan nodded, but his attention wasn't on Warren. He'd been distracted by Macca, who was stood the other side of the sliding glass doors, arms crossed, scowling like a three year old who'd been denied sweeties.

'What's wrong with you?' Brendan asked, once Warren had gone and Macca had made a big show of not talking to Brendan.

'Hmph,' was the only response he could get, coupled with a flick of his head which would have sent long hair flying huffily. He was like a moody cartoon princess.

'Macca,' Brendan encouraged.

Nothing.

'Macca, say something.'

Nothing.

'Fine, I'll go and help Walker with his rounds.'

'You always do that!' Macca said accusatorily. Brendan threatening to leave _always_ got him to talk, or in this case shout.

'Do what?'

'Throw me out when he's around.' Macca pointed wildly to the door, and Brendan was left to assume he was talking about Warren, which was completely ridiculous and faintly annoying.

'It's business,' Brendan shrugged. He didn't need this, not from Macca.

'But you tell me everything about business.' That wasn't true but it was good that he thought it. 'We don't have any secrets.'

He was acting whiney now, pushing himself up to Brendan's side and running a finger across his chest

'Get your hand off,' Brendan seethed under his breath. 'Or I will break it off.'

Macca took he hint and put his hands back at his own side, but he didn't stop complaining. He never did.

'Be honest with me,' he said slowly, digging his hands into his coat pockets. It was good that he had a coat now, it meant the cold Irish weather couldn't be another just another thing for him to moan about. 'Are you having an affair with Warren?'

'Foxy!' Brendan spluttered. It might have been funny if it wasn't so disgusting.

'See,' Macca said. His coat pocket jutted forward, as though he might have been pointing inside the warmth of the lining. 'You have a little pet name for him.'

'This is a joke,' Brendan muttered, scratching his chin and turning away from the other man. He just couldn't look at him when he was acting insane. He preferred it when Macca was his shadow, who followed him around and put up with his crap and never demanded anything more than a good seeing to every night. The only thing better than that was Macca deciding to go back to Blue Zone to see his old friends. Though that was happening less than less, his old friends didn't seem to like him anymore and that had created this: Macca moving in and becoming whatever the hell he was now. It was too much, too intimate. He hated what they had become. And then Macca whispered:

'I can be better.'

Brendan felt himself turning around to look at the younger man. He was met with the top of his head, Macca seemed fascinated by his own shoes all of a sudden. They were expensive, personalised "Mario Brothers" converses. Macca had wanted them so Brendan had bought them for him. He couldn't remember why. Maybe he'd been apologising for some reason, maybe he'd just liked Macca more back then. The shoes were pretty battered now.

'I could be into it,' Macca continued. 'If you want me to be. Let you both have me…. Same time if you want.' He didn't sound confident, but he'd do anything to make Brendan happy, which was exactly how he liked his boys. 'I'll do whatever you want Brendan,' he looked up now, and Brendan found himself looking into the teary grey eyes. 'Just don't abandon me.'

'Abandon you?' Brendan frowned. 'No one's abandoning anyone, Macca.'

'But I just thought….' He sniffed a bit. It was disgusting. Macca was an ugly crier, his face screwed up and his mouth opened wide and his skin would go blotchy. He was already heading that way.

'Me and Foxy, yeah, I know.' Brendan was bored of this conversation now. 'Tell you what, Macca, when I find someone new, you'll be first to know.'

He sniffed again, tears falling faster and fatter down his bony cheek and he could barely whisper:

'I don't want you to find someone new. I don't want to lose you.'

'Well then,' Brendan reached out, hooking his finger over the top of his coat collar and pulling the younger man towards him. 'Don't annoy me.' And then he kissed Macca. If nothing else it would shut him up and stop him sniffling. He could taste the salty tears that had gathered on Macca's bottom lip, he licked the taste away and pulled the younger man close. He was small and skinny, but had a certain strength that only a man could possess and he seemed to fit well in Brendan's embrace.

They were disturbed by the sound of an uncomfortable clearing of the throat.

He shoved Macca away and looked towards the voice. Walker stood half knocking on the glass balcony door. Could his henchmen not do anything for themselves today?

'Yes,' Brendan answered the unasked nicety. 'You are interrupting.' He noticed Macca blush a little. He seemed pretty pleased with himself. Maybe he felt like he'd staked his claim in front of another one of Brendan's possible lovers. No one was free from the little Northern Irishman's jealousy.

'Sorry about that.' Walker didn't look sorry, in fact he looked like he was trying pretty hard not to laugh.

'Mmm,' Brendan was sceptical. 'Go on then, why are you here?'

'New recruit,' he smirked. 'Young lad, brief time in young offenders very,' he paused for a moment before smirking widely and finishing: 'Well … you'll like him.'

'You look giddy. Anyone would think you'd been screwing him,' Macca scorned, scrunching up his face in disgust and leaning into Brendan's side. He was delusional and Brendan found himself shoving the younger man away in favour of slapping Walker heartily on the shoulder.

'Show me the way,' he said. He liked new recruits. However small time they were, they always caused a few changes around the place. That's what happened when you put a load of egotistical wanna-be bad boys together. Even the kids with the good families who were just doing a week's crime taster course, they changed things a bit, stopped the place stagnating.

The new lad was just another Blue Zone council rat. He was scuffing stones with his tatty trainers when Brendan first saw him. The laces were frayed but still tied, so he must just slip his feet in and out. The bottom of his tracksuit trousers were worn from years of being trodden into the mud and his matching jacket was faded. He looked like he probably smelt bad, like he wouldn't think showering was important and he wore a sullen look on his face, which said "poor me". He was a nobody, Brendan was sure of that. His crimes would be petty though he'd probably been some big shot on some tiny council estate in England. But the lad was going to be nothing here and that would probably annoy him, which Brendan thought would be fun to watch.

''Bout time,' the rat said, not managing to tear his eyes away from the floor. 'Been waiting ages, haven't I?'

'Is that right?' Brendan smirked. He tried not to, but no one had spoken to him like that for a while and there was something almost funny about it.

'So what? You king or something?' he demanded. He was still staring at the floor, for all his bravado and big words he couldn't bring himself to make eye-contact. Coward.

'King,' Brendan repeated. He quite liked that; King Brendan. He glanced over to Walker who just shrugged. He clearly had his doubts about the rat, but Brendan had seen bigger and he'd certainly seen uglier rats turn out alright in the past. 'What's your name kid?' And before the boy could say something faintly ridiculous like "Ben Dover" he said: 'And look at me when you answer.'

The boy glanced up and Brendan noticed he wore less of a scowl and more of a pout on his sharp features. He looked like an elf, all pointed ears and cheekbones with eyes that pierced you with a glare. And then he answered:

'Ste.'

'No, you misunderstood,' Brendan frowned. 'I didn't ask what queer nickname you'd given yourself. I asked for the name your mama gave you when she popped you out all gooey and slimy.'

'In that case, I'm probably called "that little bugger".'

Brendan found himself laughing. He couldn't help himself. He'd dealt with the "poor me" runaways before. Their mums so evil because they wouldn't buy the kid the latest iPhone. Their dad's so neglectful because they were working three jobs to keep the kid fed. They were all the same, they came here looking for an identity and soon found one: "mummies-boy". They all went running back to the fat breasted women who'd dragged them up sooner or later.

'Well,' Brendan said. 'I'll call you Steven.'

'No one calls me that,' he kicked out at another stone, which shot across the pavement in front of Brendan's house and hit the drainpipe.

'I do,' Brendan insisted. He was bored of the games now. 'Go with Walker. He'll help you pick a place to stay.' He turned to his lackey: 'Blue Zone,' he said, Walker just nodded and grabbed hold of Steven's sleeve shoving him towards the BMW they used to move around The Estate.

'Blue Zone?' Macca questioned, once the car had pulled away. Of course that little git had been listening. He just couldn't stay where he was told. 'Don't think much of him then?' He seemed pleased at that and he would. If Macca could think that Warren and Walker were a threat, who knew what he thought of young, elfin council rats.

'He's just a wee lad with a temper, Macca,' Brendan assured him. 'Let him shout "mummy didn't love me" a few times and he'll leave. He wants attention and if one thing's for sure, no one on The Estate will give him any.'

* * *

**Thanks for reading...xx**


	4. Blue Zone

**Thanks to everyone who's read so far. If you're reading, I'd love to hear what you're thinking so I can improve both my writing and this fic. But I appreciate your silent time too! :D**

* * *

Ste stared out of the back window. The whole place looked grey and miserable. It was like one of those depressing holiday resorts that his mum had taken him to when he was a kid. Expect it was unlikely that anyone dressed in a threadbare "dinosaur" costume was going to jump out and force him to have fun here. He used to kick the dinosaur in the balls at every opportunity. He almost felt sorry for the guy in the costume now that he looked back. He was probably just some underpaid, overworked Uni student, but then he probably had a nice wife, nice car and good job now, whereas Ste had The Estate. Whatever the hell that was.

'That's Central Square. It's where we eat,' Walker said suddenly. That was the first thing the guy had said to him since he'd arrived. Before now it had just been being yanked around by his collar and occasionally being told to: "move" or "walk" or "budge". He was a man of few and aggressive words, but that suited Ste, it reminded him of his step-dad.

Ste looked in the direction Walker had nodded. It was a biggish field, filled with gazebos and tarpaulins and chair after cheap plastic chair next to some industrial looking tables. It reminded him of young offenders; clinical and lacking in personality. He couldn't imagine calling The Estate home.

'We all eat together, a different zone cooks each night. You take your chances with most of the food.' He snorted a little at his own little joke and Ste responded with a sarcastic little "ha-ha". Ste watched Walkers face fall into a scowl in the rear view mirror.

'You wanna be careful how you talk to me, kid,' he hissed. 'There're three people you don't want to get on the wrong side of in The Estate and I'm one of them.'

'Really?' Ste asked. He was bored. This Walker character didn't seem too scary. Not like the moustached freak from earlier. He'd had crazy eyes, like he might just snap and murder everyone at any second. That, and he was Irish. Ste was pretty sure the Irish were all Guinness-drinking, fist-swinging nutters. Or at least that's what his step-dad had told him; so that was probably a lie.

'Warren's another one,' Walker continued. 'I have a feeling you'll meet him sooner rather than later.' He smirked then, glancing over his shoulder at Ste in a way that told him it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, meeting Warren. Ste felt himself squirming in the expensive leather seats. Suddenly this Walker didn't seem quite so funny. 'And then there's Brendan,' Walked turned his attention back to the empty streets. 'You need to be good for Brendan.'

'Oh yeah?' He'd meant to sound threatening, or at least rebellious. He'd never been good for anyone, why start now? But it actually came out more like a nervous squeak and Ste began to question his decision to move to The Estate.

'Mm-hmm,' Walker smiled. 'You see, with Brendan, if he likes you … you'll be safe for life. Never have to worry about a thing. But if he doesn't….' He trailed off annoyingly.

'What?' Ste felt himself leaning forward and hated himself for showing so much interest. Walker chuckled too, like he knew he had Ste eating out of the palm of his hand. Arrogant prick.

'Let's hope you never have to find out,' he grinned, taking a very fast and very unexpected turn left, which sent Ste flying across the backseats. He should have warn his seatbelt. He hadn't realised the guy driving was a lunatic. He managed to be fastened in safely by the time Walker took another corner at the speed of a rally driver.

'This is Blue Zone,' Walker said after a while, as they crossed a street. It looked like all the other streets they'd past. Falling down houses, some held up with scaffolding. There were scraps of litter being blown around in the light winter breeze but the metal rubbish bins filled were burning as men stood around staring at the flames. There were a few lads about his age playing some kind of version of football with an old tattered football and some other lads launching a rock at a cat. It was like home. Except….

'Where're all the women?' Ste asked, peering around again. He expected some tracksuit wearing slut to be on a street corner, rollers in her hair, or make-up plastered across her face, or baby on her hip. The scene felt incomplete without it.

'Indigo zone,' Walker muttered. He'd slowed down considerably now, and Ste felt a little uncomfortable as he became acutely aware that everyone had halted their previous activities to stare at the new recruit. 'Used to be the pink zone,' Walker continued. He didn't seem to even notice the stares. Or he was used to it. 'But most of them are lesbians so they took offence. Then again, most of them are lesbians so they take offence to everything.'

Ste laughed at that, but that was probably nerves escaping and laughter was better than a high-pitched scream.

'Don't worry, kid.' Walker looked at him in the mirror. 'You'll still get to lighten your load, so to speak,' he winked. 'Brendan's pretty close with the Madam at the local whore house. They come Wednesdays and Saturdays. So you come those days too.' He laughed a little harder than the joke probably deserved. Walker was clearly a man that found himself inexplicably funny.

Walker pulled up at the end of the road, which was marked by a small crossroads completed with a sign pointing in all different directions: "Red Zone", "Orange Zone", "Indigo Zone", "Pink Zone".

'Who's there then?' Ste asked, pointing at the "pink zone" part of the sign.

'No one,' Walker said. 'We've renamed in Yellow Zone. It's full of money launderers, bankers, accountants. The Estate earns a lot of money. We need these guys to fix the accounts, fiddle the books. They let us blend seamlessly into the modern world.'

Ste knew at that moment that this place was way bigger than he'd imagined. He began to wonder just how many zones there were, how many people were here and what they'd all done to get here. He thought about leaving, running home and going back to stealing from the local Price Slice. But he knew that wasn't an option. He'd spent every penny he had getting here and he didn't have anywhere to go back to.

Walker was staring at him like he was a disgusting purple pimple on his arse that needed squeezing and when Ste met his cold grey eyes, the older man just said:

'Get out.'

Ste didn't need to be told twice. The more he learned about The Estate, the less he wanted to mess with the system. Ste had only barely closed the door, when Walker raced away at top speed shooting dust and the odd rock into the air. Ste scrambled away, arms swinging everywhere. He'd already bounced off the man before he realised he'd hit him in the face.

'Watch where you're going!' Ste snapped immediately. It was like a reflex and he wished he hadn't said it when he glanced up at the guy and saw all six foot of him, wide as a truck and with scars across his face.

'What did you say?' he demanded. He had a faintly European accent, but Ste couldn't place where. He'd never been to Europe, he didn't know what they sounded like there. Foreign probably. And the foreign accent, coupled with the huge muscles and scared face would have made most people back down. Not Ste though, he was too dumb for that.

'I said, watch where you're going.' He tried to square up to the guy, but he only really came up to the guy's neck, which had the man it fits of forced, cruel laughter.

'Tough guy, eh?' he smirked. And before Ste knew what was happening, he had his arm pinned behind his back, pushed to the point of snapping. His head was yanked back by his hair so he was resting uncomfortably on the guy's shoulder and the voice was warm and threatening in his ear: 'I bet you never been prison. Can't have. You would not walk straight if had.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ste hissed out. He was used to pain, good at ignoring it. His mum had done worse to him when he was young.

'Skinny, little, pretty boy like you,' he sneered. And Ste felt something slimy and wet slide over his ear, followed by the slightly scraping of teeth and the threatening promise: 'You be split in half by every man there.'

'Faggot,' he snarled. He knew the punch was coming. It was obvious in the way the man shoved him way, it was obvious from the look in his eyes and the flare in his nostrils. But knowing something doesn't always prepare you for it, and he was clutching his face and staggering backwards before he'd had time to think. His heals collided with the curb, and he stumbled over, falling awkwardly onto his arse. He was aware of the man standing over him. He was aware of his collar being held and dragged upwards.

'Come on then!' he yelled. He tried to swing his fists at the guy, but the angle was impossible and they both knew it. The guy just sneered and raised his own fat fist, ready to finish the job on his face. And then, a voice. Irish, or maybe Scottish and some hands on his shoulders dragging him to his feet.

'What is wrong with you, eh?' he heard the voice demand and he went to answer, but the other guy got their first.

'He need good beating.'

'So tell Brendan.' Yeah, the guy was definitely Scottish, it was obvious in the way he rolled his "r"s. 'You've been telling everyone all week that you've got his ear. What's he gonna do if he finds out you've been beating up the new kid?'

'Thank me,' the guy shrugged. He looked oddly sheepish. Ste hadn't looked up at his saviour yet, but from the way the other guy was standing, he could only assume that his saviour was some kind of hairy giant.

'You wanna take that risk, Larry?' the Scottish voice was very calm now. 'Then be my guest,' Ste found himself being shoved towards the guy called Larry.

Larry seemed to consider Ste for a long time. He could almost see the internal argument playing across his face. His fingers twitching and itching to colour Ste's face a mess of purple and black, but his brain considering the consequences.

'Fine,' Larry said eventually. 'But just know this, kid,' he spat at Ste. 'After I've showed my plan to Brendan tonight, I'm gonna be forth in command, and then you should be worried. Then you should be terrified … because I'll come after you.'

Ste wanted to shout something about clearly being terrified of the Scottish guy, or something about not being scared of him, or just anything … anything at all. Just call him ugly. But something was stopping him, maybe it was the swelling over his cheekbone or the fact that his heart was still pounding away, but he just couldn't force out a single cheeky comment.

'You alright, Ste?' the Scottish voice asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ste span quickly. The hand felt too small to be the scary giant he'd imagined and his name, how could he know his name? And then it became clear:

'Joel,' he frowned. He couldn't be less giant-like. He was as small as Ste, and just as slight. The only thing threatening about him were his overly bushy eyebrows, which gave his eyes a sunken, drug-addict look.

'You're face doesn't look too good mate,' he continued, as though seeing Ste wasn't the huge surprise it should have been. 'You should come inside, get cleaned up.'

Joel had his arm slung around Ste's shoulder and was already walking him away down the street before Ste's brain had managed to pick a question out of the hundreds that were crashing around in his brain:

'Why was he so scared of you, eh? I'm not even scared of you. No one was at young offenders.'

'He's not scared of me,' Joel sighed. 'He's scared of Brendan. He just needs to be reminded of that sometimes. Here,' he pointed up at one of the old run-down houses, with the number "4" scrawled across the front door with spray-paint. 'You can stay here. We've got a spare room. Way better than most newbies get. We may even have some ice somewhere.' He paused for a moment. He almost looked like he thought Ste should say something, but Ste's face was stinging and throbbing and everything was a bit too much right now for him to try and think up some polite conversation.

'Kev, Bart and me are going down to house 16 soon,' Joel continued, when the silence had gone on for long enough. 'Our houses are the youngest in Zone, so we've got to cook the meal for tonight. Can you cook?'

'A bit,' Ste shrugged. He didn't really want to tell Joel that after the Scottish boy had left young offenders, Ste had taken the cooking class and enjoyed it. He'd even thought about continuing when he was back out in the free world. But then it had been easier and more exciting to go with Callum and steal a pizza from Price Slice rather than cook one, and that had ended his budding career as a chef.

'Good,' he nodded. 'You can help us out then. Kevin and Bart can't even tell the difference between sugar and salt. They put them in the wrong bowls last week when we cooked. You can imagine how happy Brendan was when he took his first sip of salty coffee.'

Ste grinned. He couldn't help himself the thought of that Irish psycho spitting out salty coffee was funny. But the muscle movement contorted the bruise on his face and he hissed a bit as the pain sent a warm shooting pain through his skull. Joel didn't flinch. No one ever flinched when he was in pain. Instead, Joel rolled his eyes and said:

'What are you doing here man?'

'Just needed a change,' Ste shrugged.

'I wasn't even sure you were still alive,' Joel chuckled. 'Never kept in touch with people from inside. Did you?'

Ste shook his head. 'Not really,' he lied.

'So how did you hear about The Estate?'

'Saw Callum ages back, he said you'd mentioned this place. Sounded good.' Ste tried to sound offhand and casual about the situation. He hoped that he wasn't screaming "I've got nowhere else to be" with every breath. Because that was the truth. That had always been the truth for Ste.

'Ah yeah, you guys were close inside, eh?' he smiled. 'I wonder what happened to him.'

'Dunno.'

* * *

'New guy's settled in well,' chuckled Brendan, nodding towards their newest recruit, who'd managed to transform his face into a lovely swollen mess with a purple ring around one eye.

'He's probably never been hit like that in his life,' Macca agreed, talking around his food. 'It's like you said Brendan. He's probably practically middle-class, all "mummy didn't buy me the right iPod".'

'Chew with your mouth closed,' was all Brendan managed to reply as he watched Steven. He was no different to any other guy who'd started off in Blue Zone. Small time criminal with no luck and no sense. He'd probably shouted his mouth off to one of the bigger guys. He might have even tried to jump in at top dog. He seemed stupid enough to not understand the hierarchy of The Estate.

'He's latched onto that Joel Dexter,' Walker frowned. He was also talking with his mouth full but Brendan felt no need to warn him about it.

'That's a smart move, that.' Warren nodded approvingly.

'You would think that, wouldn't you Foxy?' Brendan snorted. 'I don't know what you see in that kid. He seems like a boy trying to be a man to me.'

'He's cute,' was Macca's useless and frankly irritating input.

'Maybe that's what you see in him, eh Foxy?' Brendan smirked.

'Only one faggot around here mate,' Warren smirked, stabbing a potato with a knife and eating it off the blade. Did none of his friends have table manners? Then he added: 'I think he's got potential that's all.' He might have been shrugging, but it was pretty hard to tell in his coat that made him look like a fat, blue maggot. He had no style either, that and his table manners were just two of his many bad qualities. At least Walker managed to look suave and menacing most of the time. Macca just looked like an unstylish faggot, in an unflattering tracksuit. Brendan had given up any hope of them improving. Though he had once thought that about the food, and somehow, tonight, it was actually edible; tasty even.

'Seems like the lad, Steven, can cook,' Walker said, clearly as impressed as he tasted his first mouthful of steak as Brendan. Macca and Warren had been eating too messily to taste anything.

'I noticed,' Brendan nodded, picking up a slice of garlic bread and shoving the entire thing into his mouth. That was less tasty. Too much garlic, way too much garlic. If he'd been a vampire, he'd have died. As a human, he just choked. Of course the whole township was looking at him, a mixture of concern and fear as he coughed and spluttered at his table high above his minions:

'Get Steven … now!'

Macca obeyed the order first. He always obeyed Brendan's orders first.

'You alright, mate?' Warren grinned. He'd made no effort to help, but he was pouring him a glass of water now the coughing fit was over.

'What a gentleman,' Brendan sneered as Warren pushed the glass into his hand. Walker hadn't even flinched. It was like they were waiting for him to die so that they could fight amongst themselves as to who was going to be leader next.

* * *

'Brendan's asked for you.'

It was just some scrawny little no body, who looked like he wouldn't be able to land a punch in a fight and would cry if you flicked him hard enough.

'Do one,' Ste replied. His face was aching. Joel was the only one talking to him and deciphering his thick Scottish accent was a massive headache and had left him nodding blankly in response to everything.

'Nah, mate,' Joel muttered in his ear. 'This is Brendan's boyfriend. You wanna do what he says.'

'You telling me King Brendan is queer.'

'Aye,' Macca snapped. 'And he won't like you using that word.'

'He'd prefer queen?' Ste snorted a little at his own joke, but he obviously didn't find it that funny. When he really found something funny he had the most embarrassing laugh. Callum had once told him he sounded like a demented seal. The cold glares from everyone around him stopped his laugh progressing that far.

'Aw, what!' he demanded of Joel and the other cronies, what were their names: Kevin something? Mark? Was it Bart? 'You all lost your sense of humour.'

'Just go with him, Ste,' Joel insisted. 'And don't….' But the warning was lost under his thick accent and the fact Macca had grabbed him by the sleeve to drag him to the head table.

'Ger'off,' Ste groaned. His arm was spinning round and round in a ridiculous loop to try and throw off his prison guard. 'Ger'off.' He was stumbling a bit as he tried to free Macca's grasp and avoid all the dickheads that were trying to trip him as they made their way to the head table. Some of the blokes were spitting, or miming various lewd acts as they went. This was probably what it was like to be in prison. He noticed not a single once so much as snarled at Macca. That must be what it's like to be the prison bitch.

Macca dragged him up the steps to the platform Brendan and co were sat at and attempted to throw him against the table. Ste was stronger and held his ground, practically growling at the Northern Irish bitch when he finally let him go.

'Steven, Steven, Steven,' Brendan was stroking his moustache, looking at him like he was nothing more than some helpless prey. 'Always so hostile.'

'Your lapdog's a dick!'

'No,' Brendan shook his head. 'But that is one of his best features.'

No one could have missed the ruby red colour flow over Macca's entire face. Even his ears tinged pink.

'Eww,' Ste couldn't help himself. He needed some kind of filter to tell him when to talk and when not to. 'Rank that.'

'Screw you,' Macca snarled.

'You'd like that, you,' Ste shot back. 'Both of you.' Ste was aware of a simultaneous intake of breath from Warren, Walker and the few minions close enough to hear. It was obvious he was talking too much, or at least talking too stupid. But there was no threat, no insult, no anger. Brendan just lowered his voice, leant forward a little and whispered:

'Not as much as you'd enjoy it … Steven.'

Ste glared, but he could feel his cheeks flush a little. He didn't know why. Maybe because he'd been embarrassed in front of Macca. Maybe because something about Brendan made him uneasy.

'So tell me,' Brendan leant back in his chair and prodded the steak with his folk. 'Did you have something to do with this meal?'

'Might have,' Ste shrugged. 'Why?'

'What about the garlic bread? Were you in charge of that?'

'Nah,' he shook his head. 'That was one of the other lads.'

'Which one?' Brendan seethed. He looked like he intended to make someone pay for making a fool of him, for making him look like he couldn't handle one piece of measly bread.

'Dunno.'

'Who … was … it?' Each word was punctuated by spittle.

'I dunno,' Ste repeated. It wasn't that he was trying to be the hero, it wasn't that he wasn't snitching on the lad responsible. He'd have given him up in a heartbeat, but he genuinely didn't know the boy's name.

'Silent type, eh?' Brendan mused, stroking a finger across the dark stubble on his chin. 'I've got to say, I'm surprised. I had you down as a squealer.' He leant back in his chair. He seemed more relaxed now. 'Food's good,' he mumbled.

'Er, thanks?' Ste hated how uneasy he sounded. No one had ever really paid him a compliment before. He liked it. It made him feel proud of himself. Even prouder than when he stole a particularly expensive item from the local Price Slice.

'You can go now,' Brendan dismissed him. Ste just found himself nodded dumbly. He didn't know what had happened to all his fight and harsh words and sharp comebacks. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. 'Oh, and Steven.' Ste glanced over his shoulder at the man in charge. 'Try to stay out of fights. The black eye doesn't suit you.'

Ste turned away and walked off, but he could feel Brendan's eyes on him. He was sure that if he turned around, Brendan would be staring at him, watching him leave, checking out the way his arse moved under the loose fabric of his tracksuit trousers. Gross.

But when Ste did risk a glance over his shoulder towards the main table, he found that Brendan's interest in him had clearly ended long ago. If only Ste could stop his interest in Brendan as easily.


	5. Building Alliances

It was funny. Well, Brendan thought it was funny. Warren thought it was hilarious and Macca was laughing harder than any of them. It was only Walker who seemed disapproving of the situation, but they say laughter is the language of the soul and if you looked into Walker's eyes, it wasn't always obvious whether or not he had one.

'Cheer up, will you?' Brendan groaned, nudging Walker in the ribs. 'We're not hurting him.'

'It's humiliating,' Walker hissed as Warren moved onto "point 27" in a long, long,_ long_ list of things that were wrong with Lawrence's plan to rob a bank.

'He needs it,' Brendan insisted. 'He's been telling everyone who'll listen that he's forth in charge.'

'Idiot.' Macca laughed even harder. He always laughed too loudly at times like this. It was suspicious, Brendan knew it was. Macca was trying too hard, but Brendan didn't care enough to question the younger man's motives. He had no interest in them.

'You're in charge,' Walker held his hands up.

'You always do this,' Brendan shook his head, handing an empty beer bottle to Macca. 'Get us another.' Macca did so immediately, leaving Walker free to ask:

'Do what?'

'Wash your hands of the punishment.'

'I believe in an eye for an eye,' Walker said firmly, turning away as Warren continued onto "point 31, you can't ignore the laws of physics". 'But Lawrence got a bit big for his boots….'

'And now, he's being dragged down a peg or two,' Brendan interrupted.

'In front of everyone in Blue Zone!'

And there was the problem. It was the publicity of the humiliation that bothered Walker. Brendan shouldn't have been surprised. Walker always did like to do things on the sly. He was like a wily fox. He'd probably have been happier if they'd crept up on Lawrence like a shadow in the night, got inside his head and destroyed him over time. He wasn't the showman that Brendan was, and he wasn't as sadistic as Warren. But that's why Brendan had them both, they came in handy for different reasons.

Brendan scanned the crowd from Blue Zone as they watched on. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves. He could imagine that every one of them had been on the receiving end of Lawrence's nonsense at some point. Some more than others, he thought, as he spotted Steven laughing as loudly as any of them, occasionally touching the bruise under his eye.

'Breeeeeendaaaaaan.'

Brendan snapped out of his gazing and noticed a beer bottle floating around in front of his face. He snatched it from Macca's freezing hand and took a swig.

'Where's your glove gone?' Brendan demanded, as Macca rubbed one gloved hand and one bare hand together in a feeble attempt to create some heat. He'd probably bought the gloves for Macca, he had a right to ask about his property.

'I took them off so your beer wouldn't get too warm when I carried it back.'

'Idiot,' he heard Walker mutter under his breath.

'Thoughtful,' Brendan nodded approvingly, though he couldn't help agreeing with Walker, which was a first this evening.

* * *

'You into blondes or brunettes, Ste?'

The question felt out of the blue, but Ste had been daydreaming for several minutes, so it might have been exactly what the rest of the group were talking about. He looked over to his three housemates, they were scattered about on the sofa and threadbare armchair in the sitting room.

'Er, dunno,' Ste frowned. 'I'll take anything, me.'

'Stud,' the lad called Kevin laughed.

'Desperate more like,' the lad called Bart added. Everyone seemed to think he was a bit of a tool.

They seemed alright. They weren't as carefree and funny as Callum had been, but they were better than some of the people he'd met here. And they were definitely better than the threat of Lawrence following through with his original threat of turning Ste into his bitch. It may not be prison, but you still needed protection here and a small gang of barely-men was better than one burly-man, especially one who was desperately trying to reassert himself as the leader of Blue Zone.

'Lads,' a face popped up at the window, making Ste jump so much he almost fell off the window seat.

'We're gonna play some footy,' he yelled through the glass. 'You up for it?'

'House 16, vs House 4?' Bart asked, jumping to his feet. He actually looked like he wanted to play football in the streets, in the drizzle. 'Rush goalie?'

'Whatever you want, mate. We'll still kick your arses. Always do.' The boy outside the window was too smug for someone who was getting soaked by the fine rain.

'We've got four players today though,' Kevin nodded towards Ste, as though Ste was going to go out in the rain and play football. Funny.

'You've still got a Scott,' the boy from house 16 jabbed a finger against the glass in a feeble attempt to point at Joel. 'Bloody Jocks can't play football for nothing.'

'Aye, you've had it, right,' Joel shouted good-naturedly, running out of the house.

'What's he saying?' the boy outside the window asked. 'I didn't understaaaa….' But the word turned into a half-scream as Joel hurtled out of the house causing the other boy to take off in fake-fear.

'Coming Ste?' Kevin asked, as he reached the front of the house.

'Oh, I don't….'

'Course he is,' Bart said firmly. And Ste was aware of himself being dragged to his feet by the shoulder of his hoody and bundled towards the front door. He only realised he hadn't put shoes on when he felt the water from the ground soaking through his socks. Fantastic! Now his feet were going to get cold and he'd get pneumonia or something and then he'd be ill in this crappy Estate, and no one would even bloody notice.

He glanced around at the other boy's feet. They were all barefoot, and he noticed how everyone's toes were bent up, or oddly shaped, or hairy like a gorilla. It was rank. And then he thought about how much kicking a football would hurt without trainers on. The thought made him feel sick, more so than the thought of pneumonia, or the fact the rain was flattening his hair and causing gel to run straight into his eyes.

He barely paid any attention to the faintly foreign football language that Bart and the boy from house 16 were blabbing away in as they settled the rules. "Rush Goalie", "No offside", "kick-off". None of that meant anything to Ste, but before he knew it, he was in a weird sort of football game where the road was the pitch and some old 2l Sprite bottles were goal posts.

It turned out, no one on his team was much better than he was – though they didn't hide like Ste did. He learned that if he stood next to the American boy from house 16, they wouldn't pass to him, which seemed like a good plan. It also turned out to be the American's plan.

'I don't understand soccer,' he drawled in his phoney New York accent.

'Football,' Ste corrected, but that was as much as he knew about "football".

'Riley loves it,' he nodded to the boy who'd been at the window earlier. The tool who'd started this whole hellish game.

'Yeah, well, he can actually play, can't he?' Ste muttered, as Riley did some kind of trick that sent the ball over his own head and Joel's head before dropping neatly the other side so he could smash it past Kevin, who looking nothing more than nervous in goals.

Bart was jogging around the centre of the pitch but he only managed to tackle Mickey and Spike from house 16 and Riley wasn't passing to them.

'His dad used to be big-time apparently,' the yank carried on. 'Top leagues, caps for England; something Costello.'

'Never heard of him.'

'Me neither,' Doug shrugged. 'But he played for England with David Beckham.'

Ste shrugged. The name meant nothing to him.

'What! You've never heard of Beckham?' Doug seemed pretty amazed.

'Like the place in London, from Only Fools in Horses.'

'I think that's Peckham,' Doug smiled; bright, shiny, white, American teeth practically pinging in the dim light. Knowing more about England than an Englishman was just pathetic. 'Beckham's a soccer player.'

'Football player,' was all the reply Ste could manage. He didn't really care anymore. He was bored of the happy-go-lucky yank.

Before Ste really had time to announce how stupid the yank looked, continually smiling despite the fact they were playing football in this cold miserable weather, a car tore around the corner at the end of the street, headlights flashing and horn beeping. It was coming straight for them.

'Move!' Riley yelled, because of course they couldn't have thought of that by themselves.

Ste jumped out of the way, but not before he'd shouted a few swears at the metal monster, and aimed a few choice gestures at its maniac driver. He recognised him. He was one of Brendan's henchmen, the one who'd made a fool of Lawrence, the one with wild eyes and apparently wilder driving.

'What the hell!' Ste demanded, once the car had disappeared and all that was left were men picking themselves up and running around like a bomb had gone off. The car's engine roaring in the background. It sounded like he was racing around the entire estate.

'The girls are here,' the yank shrugged, as though that was an explanation for all the chaos. It wasn't, so Ste found himself trying to get more of an explanation from Doug's expression. He looked … disinterested. But then Ste tended to read people about as well as he read words and for a dyslexic whose mother only managed to scrape together the energy to get him to school once or twice a week, that wasn't saying much.

'I'm Doug by the way,' the yank said uneasily and Ste realised he'd just been staring at the lad silently for the past few seconds. Ste looked at the space between them, Doug was holding out his hand like some kind of English gentleman from a history film. Ste felt no impulse to shake it so he just gave a slight nod of his head and grunted:

'Ste.'

'Well,' Doug's optimism seemed unending as he dropped his hand to his side. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Ste.'

Ste gave a forced sort of smile. "Pleasure to meet you", was this guy some kind of alien? He looked the guy up and down, smart maroon trousers rolled up a little to show of some ankle, an ugly Christmas style jumper and slick back John Travolta hair from that horrible musical film his mum used to watch all the time when he was a kid. And only one question came to mind:

'What kind of crime did you do?'

'Oh,' Doug smiled, and all Ste could see were those bloody teeth. 'I deal drugs … or at least, I did. Not too much call for that here. Now I just help the guys in the Green Zone with distribution.'

'Riiiight,' Ste nodded, but he didn't really understand.

'Never got caught.' He seemed proud of himself for that. 'Police never suspect the innocent looking ones in a sweater.'

'You look boring.'

'Yeah, well,' he smiled through the insult. 'As long as he keeps me away from the cops, I don't care what I look like.'

'Ste, mate.' Joel's unmistakeable Scottish mumble, accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, drew Ste's attention to the fact that everyone else had left the street. 'Didn't you see the car?'

'No, I went blind for a moment,' Ste scorned.

'So what are you waiting for … the girls are here!' Joel was practically tearing off Ste's shoulder in excitement and Ste vaguely remembered Walker's weird little "Welcome Tour" and a mention of visits from the local whore house. Dammit! The girls were here!

'Unless, of course….' Joel let go of Ste's shoulder and looked purposefully at Doug.

'What?' Ste asked.

'Well, if you'd rather stay here with Doug,' Joel's eyes were glinting with some kind of hilarious, unspoken joke.

'Nah, no way,' Ste frowned. 'Show me the girls.' Then he glanced at the yank. 'You coming Doug?' Only seemed polite to ask.

'Oh, no,' the American blushed a little. 'Not this time. You boys have fun.'

'More in to men, aren't you Doug?' Joel grinned, starting to pull on Ste's arm to get them moving, but that stopped him dead.

'Wait, you're gay?'

It did explain the stupid clothes and the perfect teeth. And all Ste could think was that he'd never met a real gay person before, if you didn't count Macca or Brendan, which he didn't, and how weirdly "normal" Doug seemed. But what he said was:

'Watch out for Lawrence, mate. He's well creepy about all that bumming, him.'

'Thanks for the heads-up,' Doug chuckled, all teeth and stupid hair as he gave a half wave and Ste realised that Joel had lost his patience and was now dragging him along the pavement.

* * *

'Awww! _That_ is your fault.' Joel punched Ste in the arm, nodding towards a big-boobed, blonde girl tottering after some huge bloke from Red Zone. 'She's usually mine.'

'Alright,' Ste frowned. 'How am I supposed to know that a car trying to run me over means the girls have arrived?'

'Everyone was yelling it?' Joel suggested, and Ste remembered that even Doug had mentioned it. 'You gotta be quick, man, or you end up with the skanks … or the oldies … or the ones who used to be dudes.'

'Hey, if the plumbing's right, who cares?'

'Me,' Joel looked disgusted. 'Jesus, Ste! Do you have standards?'

Ste just shrugged.

'Aye, look at that,' Joel chuckled nodding towards the main table on the stage. There was a glamorously beautiful woman sat in Brendan's chair and next to her Riley was trying, and failing, to smooth talk her.

'He does that every time she's down here,' Joel chuckled. 'He's getting nowhere slowly.'

'Who is she?'

'She's the madam, Mitzeee,' Joel half answered, but his attention had been completely usurped by a brunette, with huge eyes and fake lips and fake boobs and fake everything, who was beckoning him over from a few tables away. 'See you later, mate.'

Ste felt alone suddenly. Apart from the glitzy, Cheryl Cole Copy Cat, who Riley was failing with, the other girls were pretty plain. The girl-next-door type that some guys liked. They weren't what he'd have preferred, but Ste had never been particularly fussy when it came to girls. He could do the average "girl next door" if that was his only option.

'Hi,' a timid voice sounded from behind him. He span around and there was a girl spinning golden hair around her finger. 'You look as lost as I feel. It's just so awkward standing here waiting to be chosen.'

'This some kind of act?' Ste asked. She had bouncy blonde hair like she'd just stepped off a red carpet, but other than that she looked pretty ordinary. Minimal make-up, slightly rat-like features with pale smooth skin. She looked young, maybe that was why she was here, to fill a gap for the guys who liked their girls fresh out of school.

'No,' she shook her head, hair flew everywhere. 'I'm a bit … new to this line of work. I don't really know how to look … appealing.'

Ste looked her up and down, she had tight jeans on and a pastel blue sweater, nothing particularly striking.

'You could dress up more,' he shrugged. 'Tight jeans are a pain to get off.'

'Y-you could tear them off,' the girl suggested, stepping close suddenly. But her stutter gave away her nerves and Ste found himself laughing.

'How long have you been doing this?'

'You're my sixth … client.' She quickly clarified: 'not my sixth time. I've got loads of experience.' Then she faltered, blue eyes flicking across his face. 'Or no experience.' Her forehead creased anxiously. 'Which were you after?'

Ste glanced quickly around at the other women. There weren't any better than this mess of a hooker, so he just sighed and said:

'You. I'm after you.'

'Great,' she narrowed her eyes. Ste had to guess it was a move that was supposed to be sexy, but she just looked a bit like she'd had a seizure and Ste chose to ignore it.

'Let's go to mine,' he sighed, taking her by the hand and leading her back out towards Blue Zone.

* * *

They were at Ste's room before things became awkward. She was sat on his bed; a contraption of wooden pallets and a thin mattress. He was hovering near the door, alternating his gaze between the balding, threadbare carpet and the prostitute on his bed. It was her fault it had turned like this. It was the innocent way she was dressed, the uncertain smile, her nervous hair twisting. He knew what she was, but she didn't look right.

'So,' she said eventually, 'what do you wanna do?'

Ste tried to smile and dug his heel into the wall behind him. He was surprised the cheap plastering withstood the action.

'You told to say that?' he asked.

'Maybe,' she lifted her thin shoulders in a half-shrug, but it was all just a thinly disguised "yes".

'What else to they tell you to say?' He was genuinely interested. He'd never met a prostitute before, unless you counted the time he'd ended up on Manky Manchester Street. And they were rent boys everywhere, but he hadn't been looking at them, and that was totally different.

'They tell us not to "say" much,' she smiled, lifting herself easily to her feet. 'And they tell us to "do" plenty.'

She unzipped her pastel-blue hoody and allowed the material to flap open. She was naked underneath and had some undecipherable words tattooed onto her right ribcage. Now, she looked like a prostituted and Ste marched towards her, intending to treat her like one.

Ste pulled the thin bed sheet up around his stomach. It was probably a bit late for modesty but he still felt a bit uncomfortable and there was nothing wrong with covering his regrettable hip-tattoo of a sparrow. He'd been drunk, and too easily influenced by Callum and his infamous "Come on mate, it'll be a laugh". Now, he was infected by a girly, coloured scar for the rest of his lift. He'd noticed that this girl had avoided the tattoo like a policeman.

He glanced over to her. She hadn't bothered to cover up, but she rolled onto her front when she noticed him watching her, kicking up her feet behind her. She was the perfect picture of innocence; blonde bouncing hair falling into searching blue eyes.

Ste pushed her hair behind her shoulders.

'What's your name?' he asked.

'Rizzle.'

'I didn't ask what queer nickname you'd given yourself. I asked for the name your mama gave you when she popped you out all gooey and slimy.'

Her head cocked to the side like a puppy. Her eyes darting back and forth across his face, like she was hoping to find something there. Ste didn't know what she was looking for, so he just waited for her to sigh and answer:

'Rae, my mum called me Rae.' And: 'Really proud she'd be of me if she could see what I do to make money. Spreading my legs for just anyone … no offence.'

Ste shook his head. It took more than that to offend him, besides, she was beginning to sound like a prostitute too now, and that was oddly comforting. Anyway:

'At least you own what you sell, you're not hurting anyone with this.'

'Is that what you do?' she asked. Her legs had fallen flat now, like trying to retain her girlish playfulness had become to exhausting. 'Steal?'

Ste nodded.

'From who?'

'Shops, mainly. A few houses, pickpocketing too.'

'Pay well?'

'Sometimes,' he smiled weakly. 'You wouldn't believe the amount of cash old fogies keep on them when they're shopping in Chester. Got by alright, me.'

'So why stop? Why leave Chester and come here?'

Ste sighed, and picked at the thin sheet. It felt kind of comforting to him, which was why he opened up so easily and told her the truth:

'Used to go on the nick with my mate, Callum. But he gave up, got a fiancé, council flat, snotty kid.' He hit the mattress hard with the base of his fist. Just thinking of Callum's pseudo-normal-life made him angry.

'Sounds nice,' Rae mumbled, laying her head on her forearm, her hair fanning out around her. 'I think I'd like that.'

Ste just stared at her, naked on his bed, pretending to be this wholesome young girl. She was as much of a liar as Callum had been. She was pretending, just like he had.

'You should go,' Ste said calmly.

'Huh?' she asked, looking up at him.

'Go,' he repeated, rolling onto his side and staring at the wall. There was a grey stain there. Maybe someone had kicked the wall with a trainer, or maybe someone had spilt something against it. Maybe someone had crushed a big moth and smeared it across the wallpaper. It was a mystery and Ste could easily spend enough time thinking about it, so that he could ignore Rae wandering around the room gathering together her clothes before tip-toeing out.

But the next time the car came tearing around the roads and all the men starting running for the Central Square, Ste found himself desperately searching for Rae. And he found her patiently waiting for him.

* * *

**Lots and lots of Stendan interaction in the next chapter! :D**


	6. Initiation

**Short Chapter – next chapter will be up later/ tomorrow.**

* * *

Ste was sat on the broken sofa in House 4, staring at the array of graffiti and ridiculous doodles that took up the entire sitting room wall. His favourite was a very pornographic comic book strip, which showed these two guys trying to carry out a crime, but being constantly distracted by this same woman. Every scenario meant that the woman actually saved them from being caught, or accidentally helped them succeed in their crimes more quickly. It was quite funny, even after reading it eleven times.

He glanced around the wall at the other drawings; swears, an evil, wild-eyes blue maggot, a worm holding a gun, a rat with the resemblance of Joel….

It went black.

Someone had put something over his head; a t-shirt, a bag, a coat, something. It was musty and filled and his breath became warm and wet against his own face. He could barely breathe. He thrashed about behind him trying to get contact with his captor.

'Do one,' he tried to shout through the layers and layers of fabric, followed by various insults about "wait 'til I get hold of you" or "you'll pay for this", but he could barely hear his own voice and the lump in his throat was making it difficult to sound to threatening.

He was dragged to his feet awkwardly and shoved forwards. He stumbled awkwardly in the direction he was pushed, still trying to hit out, until he heard someone mutter.

'Grab his arms, innit.'

Now he was totally restrained, but he still wriggled. He had no idea who had captured him, but he could imagine one of Brendan's psychotic chronies, or Lawrence. Someone who wanted to kill him, maybe he'd broken a rule and not even realised it.

He stubbed his foot hard on something solid and hissed in pain under his mask, before resuming his pointless insults. He could just about hear his captors whisper:

'Careful' and 'Watch it you clumsy prick,' over the sound of his own shouting.

Then he stopped walking and he felt himself being shoved into a chair, it felt like some kind of dining chair. His arms were untied and then tied again, which felt a bit amateurish to Ste. And then blindfold was removed and everything was revealed to be amateurish.

Ste blinked a bit against the light, but when his eyes adjusted, he could very clearly see Joel, Bart and Kevin standing in front of him looking incredibly smug.

'What the hell!' Ste demanded, trying to get to his feet. It was impossible, without the chair forcing him to hunch over like a cripple. 'What's going on?'

'Initiation,' Bart beamed. 'You've been here a while now, doesn't look like you're going anywhere. Time to earn your place in this house.'

'Are you serious?' he demanded. Then he turned to Joel: 'Is he serious?'

'We all did it, Ste,' Joel shrugged.

'You've got to earn our trust,' Kevin chipped in. 'Joel might know you a bit, but, I don't know. You might be a copper, or a snitch.'

'Well how do I know you're not, eh?' Ste demanded.

'You're not really in the position to be making accusations,' Joel said calmly. 'You need a place to stay, we've given you a room in house 4. Now you need to prove to us, that we should let you stay.'

'You're a….' Ste's insult died on his tongue. He was too angry to come up with something clever that wouldn't result in him being beaten to a pulp by the three of them. He might have stood a chance against one of them, or if he wasn't tied to a chair. But he needed this room, and with Lawrence around, he could do with their friendship or protection or whatever this stupid stunt was going to earn him.

'Fine,' he sighed. 'What do I have to do?'

::

'Now might be a good time,' Bart muttered, leaning across Ste trying to reach the salt. 'Pass us that.' Ste did, but it was going to take a lot more than salt for Green Zone's attempt at cooking to taste like anything other than bland mush.

'Are you kidding me?' Ste asked, glancing up at Warren. He was sat down at the head table. He was practically on a stage in front of the whole Estate and Brendan was right next to him. 'How am I supposed to get the car keys from him now?'

'Time's running out,' Bart sang, pouring the salt. The lid came off and sent salt all over his chips in a lovely white pile. Everyone laughed, but a guy from house 16 called Mickey laughed the loudest. That was all it took for Bart to name him the culprit and he was soon diving over the table to take him out.

The fight was a certain brand of madness that Ste quite enjoyed. Bart was actually pulling Mickey's longish hair, and Mickey was hitting Bart in the head with the sticky bone from his chicken drumstick. One of Mickey's housemates, Riley, threw a glass of water at them, for seemingly no reason at all, but it did prompt Kevin to mutter something bizarre about a wet t-shirt contest, nudging the American guy from House 16 in the ribs.

'Hey. Hey!' Warren came marching over. 'What the hell's going on?' he demanded, bending over to drag Bart off Mickey. Ste saw his opportunity. It was only there for a split second, Warren bending over, arse pointed straight at Ste, keys to the BMW protruding slightly over the denim pocket of his jeans. He reached out nimble fingers and pulled the keys free from their pocket-prison and stuffed them into his jacket.

For a moment, he thought he felt someone watching him. The kind of sixth sense you develop when you spend a lot of time stealing things from shops. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the main table. He thought Brendan was staring straight at him, like he knew what had happened. But then his attention was returned to the scrap next to him, and he realised King Brendan, just like everyone else, was too busy watching Warren holding the two boys at arm's length to notice him.

'You two,' Warren snarled like an angry parent. 'You can do the dishes … all of them. And then a night in the office will do you both some good. Perhaps one of you could kill the other.'

He dragged Bart and Mickey away. They were still snarling at each other like dogs, but Ste was too busy trying to work out how many people were sat in the Central Square and how many dishes that would mean the boys had to wash. It felt like thousands but he guessed it was probably a bit more than 400. There'd been 400 at young offenders, but this felt like more.

He sat down at his seat.

'Jesus,' Joel shook his head. He looked like someone who couldn't work out whether to be shocked or laugh his head off. 'All that over some salt.'

'You wouldn't see me getting locked in the office over night for anything,' Kevin agreed, tipping Bart's abandoned meal onto his own plate before leaning forward as though letting everyone in on a big secret. 'They say Brendan can just appear in there, like a ghost or summat.'

'He can't,' Joel said. He sounded bored by the idea and ignored Kevin sat next to him, nodding furiously and mouthing:

'He can.'

'Talking of things appearing,' Ste said slowly. He was quite proud of his own little segue as he, pulled the BMW keys out of his jacket pocket and placed them on the table. 'Wanna go for a ride anyone?'

'Look at that,' Kevin chuckled, picking them up from the table and spinning them around his finger. 'Bart will be gutted. All he's ever wanted was to take that BMW for a spin.'

Joel just nodded approvingly at Ste. 'Good work,' he agreeed. 'Welcome to house 4, mate.' Then he looked meaningfully at the keys. 'Now we've just got to work out how to put them back without anyone noticing.'

'I can do it,' Ste said confidently. He already had a plan; Macca. Brendan's little shadow liked to take a walk around the tables towards the end of dinner. Ste didn't know why, some kind of attempt to show off, to be amongst them, whilst reminding them that he was better somehow. He was wearing a huge coat today, and Ste just slipped the keys in as he strolled past. Macca didn't even notice. He was totally clueless about everything. He wasn't even cute. Ste didn't know what Brendan possibly saw in Macca.

Bart returned from his night in "the office" claiming it hadn't been that bad. But that meant nothing, because no one in The Estate would be stupid enough to claim anything had been hard, or scary for even a second. He never really mentioned the experience though and if anyone brought it up, he just started moaning about the fact he'd missed a chance to drive the BMW and Ste always grinned at that. He'd definitely become one of the group now. If only making friends was always as easy as pick-pocketing some keys; he'd have been the most popular guy in Chester.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **


	7. And The Other One

**Second update of the day.**

* * *

Ste had fallen into an uneasy routine. He was getting on with the lads in House 4 better and better. He learned to be friendly with the guys from House 16 too. Riley was a good laugh, when he wasn't making them all lose to him at football and Mickey and Spike were alright too, but they usually hung around with each other. They'd been in some huge gang in London and kept banging on about "the brotherhood". Ste didn't know what that meant, but he knew what it was like to have a "brother", or he used to know.

He watched Doug with interest. He'd never realised that one person could own so many of the same pair of trousers in different colours. So far, he'd counted 5 pairs of chinos, but he suspected the yank of having more than one pair in maroon.

And then there was Brendan. Ste couldn't help watch the moustached man at every chance he got. His sophisticated suits, his elegance, the air of suave-danger. The kind of guy who'd rob you blind and you wouldn't even suspect him of being anything other than charming. Ste had so much to learn from him. So much he wanted Brendan to teach him, he just had to get the boss to notice him.

Riley had them out playing football. It wasn't really football, it was Riley showing off, while Kevin tried his best in goals, Bart and Joel moaned about the teams being unfair and Mickey and Spike occasionally acted like there was a chance Riley might pass to them.

It was cold, so Doug and Ste had moved their usual position of "out wide" closer to "far corner" because that was where the arsonists had set up their mini fire in a bin and the warmth was nice. It did have the downside of being closer to Lawrence.

'Hey sweet cheeks,' he was calling. 'Nice to see you're still around, boy. Your time'll come boy. And then I'll come, right in ya.'

Ste shuddered and moved closer to Doug. Not that Doug would be any help if Lawrence did jump him. If anything, moving closer to Doug would probably give out the wrong impression. But Doug was the only one around right now. Anyway, he got on okay with Doug. The lad could tell a semi-interesting story about moving from America, a story Ste had immediately forgotten, but it had filled a silence for a minute or two.

'Why me?' Ste groaned as Lawrence shouting something even more disturbingly graphic about what he would do to Ste.

'Maybe he thinks you're cute,' Doug suggested.

'Aw, do one.'

Lawrence made him uncomfortable enough, without Doug adding to it.

'Car!' The warning was clear, and unnecessary. Ste and Doug took one step backwards, it was all they needed to be at the relative safety of the pavement. Though that did take Ste one step closer to Lawrence.

This was different to all the other times the car had been around though. The black car couldn't have been doing more than about 5mph. The driver was giving everyone plenty of time to get out of the way. The boys from House 14, who were always out skateboarding even had time to pick up all the planks they used as jumps and move them off the road before they were smashed to splinters. There was no fear of being splattered against the windscreen like an insignificant bug.

Ste just watched as the car slowed to a stop and the driver's window wound down in a smooth mechanic movement. Walker leaned out. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but that didn't matter because the whole street was deathly silent.

'Steven Hay, Joel Dexter, Douglas Carter and Michael Childs.'

Ste looked around at the other boy's named. They seemed as clueless and nervous as Ste felt and that only got worse when Walker said calmly:

'Get in.'

There'd been no questioning, no arguing, not a single smart comment. The only noise at all had been gossiping from the other residents of Blue Zone as the four named boys tried not to make the race to the backseats too obvious.

Mickey lost and found himself getting into the front seat. He attempted a semi-polite grunt of "hello" in Walker's direction. Walker made no attempt to acknowledge any of them and that was it for the entire journey.

They were taken to the top of the hill; Brendan's house, with its huge balcony. That was where Brendan always stood, surveying his people like some kind of ancient king. The balcony was empty now. Ste didn't think that was a good sign. None of this was.

Walker pushed and pulled them through the huge double front door on Brendan's house. It was a simple kind of room modern and minimalist, with only blacks, whites and silvers apart from a disgusting, garish, glass vase which sat next to the office door. It was foul but Ste didn't have long to spend hating it as the boys were shoved left into a tiny, office room. There were no windows and the walls were bare brick, crudely painted with a pale blue. The desk was modern though, glass with a chrome frame. The huge leather desk chair, which was facing away from them, was on a chrome frame too, with shiny black leather. Ste could just imagine Brendan sat there making decisions about The Estate; new jobs, past jobs, money, food, prostitutes. This was the engine room of the entire place.

'Don't touch anything,' Walker warned and the door was slammed shut.

It was pitch black.

'Where's the light?' A voice that wasn't yank or Scottish asked. Must have been Mickey. He sounded like a hoody-wearing Londoner. There were a few of those in Blue Zone.

'Hold on,' that was Joel. Ste could hear a bit of shuffling. He could hear the sound of a hand tapping lightly on the brick wall as it searched for the light switch and eventually the light clicked on.

'Jesus!' Mickey shouted and Ste felt a hand clench tightly around his forearm. He looked in the direction Mickey was staring and found Brendan relaxing casually in the seat.

'Brendan's fine,' he smirked. 'I'm not sure how God would feel if you go around giving everyone His son's name.'

''Ow the…?' Mickey gapped.

Brendan just smirked. He seemed pretty pleased with his little trick. His expression quickly soured as he looked over the rabble ahead of him, gaze finally stopping on Ste's forearm. It was only then that Ste realised that Mickey hadn't let go of him yet. He shook the Londoner off and brought his own arm across his chest like he'd been burnt.

Mickey just glared at him like it was all somehow his fault. Ste almost squared up to him, but Brendan cleared his throat and any thought of a fight melted into fear, which was stupid because all Brendan was really doing was drumming his fingers on his glass desk and staring at each of the boys as though he was considering who would taste the nicest.

'Well,' he murmured eventually. 'What do we have here?' He stopped the tapping and stroked his chin. 'Blue Boyzone, Backstreet rat Boys, Pestlife, Fake That.' He chuckled a bit at his own jokes.

'Pretty in depth knowledge of boybands,' Mickey muttered. Ste only just heard the comment, but Brendan reacted like Mickey had shouted at the top of his voice and both boys found themselves ducking as Brendan launched a paperweight towards Mickey's head.

The glass smashed loudly in the corner and Ste felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. He looked up at the other boys, wide-eyed, pale-faced and nervous. Brendan just looked as though the incident hadn't even happened.

'Something you wanted to share, Michael?'

'Er, nah,' Mickey shook his head. He was finding his own knuckles pretty interesting now. 'I didn't say nothing.'

'Good,' Brendan seemed satisfied with that. He leaned back in his seat and tugged on the lapels of his jacket to smarten himself up. He looked pristine and Ste wondered what he'd look like if he wore a suit himself. Like an idiot probably.

'I've got a job for yous,' Brendan continued calmly. 'The pusher,' he looked to Doug, 'the safe cracker,' he glanced to Mickey, 'the thief,' he turned to Joel. 'And,' his eyes finally fell on Ste, 'the other one.'

Ste scowled, but he thought about the broken paperweight in the corner of the room and thought better of trying to argue.

'There's a bar in North Dublin,' Brendan continued seamlessly. 'Man who runs it stole some money from me a few years ago. I want it back. Or at least I want something.' He smiled slyly. 'Coke,' eyes went to Doug. 'That's where you come in, Douglass. He has a safe, that's where you come in Michael, he stores different grades of coke in there. You, Douglass, need to work out which of the bags are the good stuff so that Joel, here, can help you boys steal them. The safe's behind a poster of Kylie,' he said addressing Joel now. 'O'Shaughnessy's such a cliché. You,' he turned his whole chair around to address Ste. 'Steven,' he said the name like it was an insult too clever for the boys to understand. 'Just, try not to screw everything up.'

Ste felt his eyes narrow and his cheeks flush. If anyone else had embarrassed him like that, he'd have been flying over the desk in attempt to alter the shape of their nose but with Brendan it was different. The way he looked at him, half-mocking, half-daring, Ste craved it, craved the attention.

'Tonight,' Brendan said, attention still on Ste. 'You'll be picked up at 10, so you should have plenty of time with your sluts. If you're into that….' Ste was sure Brendan must be talking about Doug. It would make sense that Brendan would know everything about them, even down to their sexuality, but Ste couldn't help feel Brendan was talking to him and only to him.

::

Brendan tried on his third suit. He needed to get the look right; high-class pimp.

'What do you think?' he asked, looking over at Anne, she was sat on the sofa drinking a huge glass of his best red-wine. He'd called the Madam straight to the house when she'd arrived with her host of girls. He needed help from a professional … and a friend.

'You look like you're trying to sell property, not boys,' she chuckled. He just scowled at her, she was being her usual unhelpful self. 'Lose the tie,' she suggested, getting to her feet and walking over to him. 'Aaaand,' she drawled undoing his top couple of buttons and spreading his shirt to show off a little chest hair. 'That's better,' she smiled taking a huge gulp of wine. 'See Bren, they have to want you just as much as they want your boys.' She pushed her boobs upwards to make her point. 'No man's walking past this without feeling something. Well,' she snorted a little, patting him on the chest. 'Most men.'

'Hmmm,' he hummed, taking the glass of wine from her and almost finishing it in two gulps, before passing it back.

'Oh,' she frowned. 'I'll just pour myself some more, shall I?'

'Do what you want, Anne,' he choked past the burn of the liquid in the back of his throat. 'You always do.' He couldn't help notice that she'd filled the giant glass to the brim, it was almost the size of her.

'Got enough there?'

She flashed a cheeky kind of smile in response. 'Ideally, I'd be drinking out of that thing,' she pointed to a phenomenally ugly vase sat on the table outside his office. 'But I know how much it means to you.'

'It was gift from my sister,' he shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. Often in this game, the best way to protect something was to pretend you didn't care about it.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked expensive, his moustache was perfectly groomed, his hair styled to perfection. Anne was right, the shirt unbuttoned made him seem both irresistible and off limits. He twisted a bit to see himself at different angles.

'Look at you,' Anne grinned, coming up beside him, taking a sip from her fishbowl of dark liquid. 'Could you love yourself any more?'

'Rich, coming from you Anne,' he smirked. Even as he said it, she was fiddling with her hair and touching up the minutest smudge of lipstick.

'We're the perfect pair,' she agreed, linking her arm around his. 'You know…'

'… apart from the obvious,' they finished together.

'Shame really,' she smiled. 'We would have been so good together.' She pushed the wine glass towards his face and he took a sip, just a small one this time. He still had to drive to the club, still needed his wits about him to get the job done. 'I could imagine myself as princess of this place.'

'Princess?' Brendan questioned, though he had a sneaking suspicion as to where this was going.

'Well, they've already got a queen,' she patted him on the arm and snorted at her own joke.

'Bren,' Macca's voice interrupted them from the stairs.

'Speaking of which,' Anne muttered under her breath. Brendan flashed her a warning glare, but more because he thought he should rather than out of any loyalty to Macca. 'Wine, Macca?' she asked, holding up the empty glass she'd originally intended for Brendan.

'No, thanks,' he shook his head, but his attention, as always, was focused on Brendan. 'You're off soon then?'

'In a while,' Brendan nodded. They'd had this discussion on a bit of a loop for the last few hours. He was bored with it, but Macca just kept bringing it up.

'You look good.'

'Hmmm.' There was a pause. Macca was looking at Anne, blinking and opening his eyes, nudging his head sideways as though trying to telepathically tell her to get lost. He clearly didn't know her at all. If there was gossip, Anne would be around, right in the middle of it with a giant stick ready to stir it up and make things worse.

In true form, Anne's only response was to tip her head slightly to side and enquire politely:

'Are you having a seizure?'

Macca sulked. He always sulked, crossed his arms and pouted. He always looked ridiculous when he did it, sort of like an unsuccessful drag queen all big fish lips and stubble. Brendan felt no urge to bow to his childish strop. So he went to plan two; whining.

'Breeeeeeen. We need to talk.'

'You can talk in front of Anne.' Brendan could see her raise her over-sized glass and smile smugly from the corner of his vision. She was a right pain in the arse but he liked her more than most people he knew. She'd been in his circle longer than almost anyone, except his sister. But Anne knew him better. His sister wouldn't be talking to him if she knew half the things Anne knew. In a lot of ways, it really was a shame he wasn't wired differently when it came to men.

'Why won't you take me with you tonight?'

'We've been over this,' Brendan sighed.

'But it's not fair. I saw the guys you're taking. They're all skinny, and young. They're all from Blue Zone. I know what that means, I'm not stupid.'

'Well,' Anne chipped in. It was like she could read Brendan's thoughts. Macca just narrowed his glare at her, but he pushed on. Nothing could deter him from a good, repeated moan:

'It's low risk, this job. It has to be. And you're getting them to dress as rent boys, you're dressed like,' he gestured to Brendan's suit. 'A pimp. Shouldn't I be there on your arm, like your bottom bitch?'

'Oh honey, I think you already are,' Anne laughed, twisting her hair around and fixing it to rest perfectly on his shoulder.

Brendan ignored her. He had to or he'd probably be laughing.

'It's the top prostitute,' Macca scowled.

'That's what I meant,' Anne said, eyes blinking and wide; the picture of innocence. 'You're Brendan's number one, sweetheart.'

Macca smiled immediately. Macca had been around for over a year, every one of Brendan's circle knew how to play the boy by now, none more so than Brendan so he knew exactly what to say to get him to shut up, to make him happy.

'Macca, look,' he walked over to him, cupped his cheek with his hand, acting gentle. 'You can't come with me. No one would believe you were my prostitute. You're not….' Something in his brain, which spoke with a voice suspiciously similar to Anne's offered the words "pretty enough", but he silenced it and went for 'low-rent enough.'

Macca nodded. He seemed happy, he tilted his head back asking for a kiss and Brendan relented before telling him to:

'Get lost.'

Thankfully, not even Macca was jealous of Anne, so he left without too much arguing. Brendan knew Anne would have some kind of unhelpful comment to add, she always did. He was just glad that she was waiting for Macca to be out of ear-shot. When she did speak, it wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

'What ever happened to Vinnie?'

'Vincent,' Brendan muttered. He hadn't thought about his Liverpudlian for a few years. 'He died in a car crash, Anne. You know that.'

'Shame. I liked him.'

'You hated him,' Brendan chuckled gently. 'You called him a whiney little princess.'

'That was before I met Macca. Vinnie was Arnold Schwartzenegger in comparison.'

'It wasn't working with Vincent anyway.' Brendan remembered how fed up he was of the boy towards the end. Vincent had still looked great, Brendan had still wanted him, but every word out of the boy's mouth had made him want to throw him off the balcony. Every complaint about attention, everyone over exaggerated, liverpudlian "erm" had made him want to pull a gun out shoot either of them. Every time he spoke, it had been insignificant or boring or annoying or quite often, all three.

'And it is working with Macca?' Anne asked. She already knew the answer, it was obvious in the quirk of her perfectly plucked and painted eyebrow. So he just shrugged. 'You wanna know what Brendan,' she said. 'You don't seem to realise this, but relationships aren't just about finding a pretty boy who's willing to drop his pants at the click of your fingers. And you being oh so grateful that you'll do anything to protect him.' Brendan screwed up his face. It wasn't true. She wasn't in-tune with his thoughts this time. She was way, way off track. He felt her hand on his shoulder. 'You deserve better than that. There is someone out there who'll love you, Bren, really love you. Even more than I do.' She smiled up at him. 'You just have to let him.' He reached out and pulled her towards him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. It was the closest way of telling her he loved her and he did love her. She was the only one, except his sister, who looked at him like he was human, just human.

::

'Your first job,' Rae was smiling as she pulled her clothes back on. 'That's exciting. Do you get paid?'

'No.' She was stupid sometimes. 'I'm doing my bit, earning all the food and stuff I've taken up to this point.'

'Oh, right,' she nodded, fluffing her hair up a bit. 'So, how do you get money? You know, if you wanted to leave tomorrow?'

'I don't want to leave.'

'But if you did, would you owe Brendan or does he just let you go?'

'It's not prison,' Ste snorted. It was no surprise she was a prostitute, she was clearly too stupid for anything else.

'I know,' Rae said with a smile, crawling across the bed to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. It was something that had been happening more and more recently lately and Ste didn't mind it. 'Just I wonder what you're plans are, what you're going to do after this.'

'Haven't decided,' Ste shrugged. 'Don't matter though, I'm only young.'

'You're older than me,' Rae pointed out annoyingly. 'And I know exactly what I'm going to do.'

'Oh?'

'I'm going to be an actress.'

'Cool.'

'I've got a show in a few weeks,' she continued excitedly. 'You should come, if you're allowed. It's at the concert hall in town. I'll bring you a flier on Tuesday.'

'Sounds good,' Ste agreed. It was just then that the roaring of an engine outside the house alerted him to the BWM.

'I've got to go,' he said.

'Go,' she nodded. 'Be safe and good luck.'

* * *

** I'm not going to lie to you, I really enjoyed writing Britzeee (with three "e"s).**

**Thanks for reading.**


	8. The Job

**I'm going on holiday to Australia tomorrow so I won't update until sometime in early May. Therefore, loooooong chapter to keep this fic going until then!**

**Happy Easter Everyone!**

* * *

Ste was the first into the car. He slid quickly into the back seats, feeling pretty strange wearing Doug's clothes. They were just slightly uncomfortable and itchy, but he felt sort of invincible in them, like maybe he was worth something.

'Hello Steven,' Brendan said calmly. Ste jumped and looked up. He caught Brendan's gaze in the rear-view mirror, he was staring at Ste so hard that Ste felt like he could barely catch his own breath.

'Silence, is it?' Brendan continued, not relenting his stare for even a moment. 'Your mama never teach you any manners?'

'Not really,' Ste answered a little sullenly. His mum hadn't taught him anything except how to steal something big from a supermarket without anyone realising.

'Then I guess you'll need someone else to teach you,' Brendan said. 'I can teach you manners, Steven. We'll start with _please_, as in: please give it to me Brendan.'

'Give what?'

'When the time comes,' he said, voice low, so Ste found himself straining to hear, 'you'll know. And afterwards, we'll work on "thank you Brendan".'

Something in the base of Ste's gut twisted uncomfortably and he felt his cheeks blush a little. Everything Brendan said felt like a threat and like flirting and Ste didn't know which he wanted least. He was glad when Joel finally opened the door and got in beside him.

'Evening,' Brendan said easily.

'Evening,' Joel nodded back. He didn't even seem flustered by Brendan's proximity and Ste wished he could learn to be that cool. He'd turned himself into a pathetic mess in the few moments he'd been alone with the man.

Joel had refused to wear Doug's clothes, but Ste noticed he'd dug out some pretty skinny jeans and a simple black top, which he'd paired his with his customary leather jacket. Mickey got in next, just as out of place now that he was smartened up in Doug's clothes. He stank the car out with aftershave too.

'Mick, what do you smell like?' Joel smirked.

'We're going to a bar, innit. I might get lucky.'

'You know that O'Shaughnessy's place is a gay bar, eh?' Joel asked, not really bothering to hide his laughter.

'What!' the Londoner yelled. 'Crap, I used my best aftershave,' he groaned.

'Your best?' Brendan looked slightly disgusted, but the comment was lost in the chaos as Mickey began trying to rub the scent on his face and neck onto Joel's jacket and Joel just tried to whack him back.

'Cut it out,' Brendan warned quickly. Everyone stopped. 'You're all posing at rent boys anyway,' he continued as Doug finally got into the front seat. 'So you're all on the pull.' Ste knew he was losing the plot, but he felt like Brendan's eyes were back on him, pinning him to the seat like shackles. He shook himself free of the feeling and tried to relax. It was difficult, driving with Brendan was nerve-racking; no one wanted to say the wrong thing.

The car was silent and all Ste could think about was that he was going to a gay bar and was dressed as a rent boy and had no obvious part in Brendan's drug-stealing plan. What was Brendan going to expect him to do?

The bouncer outside the idiotically named "Pen15" bar had greeted Brendan like an old friend, shaken his hand and let him and the four boys skip the long queue, with a lot of grumbling from the waiting line of catty queers.

'Nice group tonight,' the other bouncer nodded approvingly as they went past, his eyes falling mainly on Joel. Ste glanced around at the group. He understood why Brendan had chosen this group of lads now. They were all slight, the kind of young boys that disgusting, old homos would letch all over, but they were all different too. Doug was that kind of la-di-da exotic American, Joel was the tough guy all leather jackets and cigarettes, Mickey had a real boyish look to him, he could have probably snuck into The Vamps, especially now his hair was washed and slightly fluffy. And Ste? Well … he was the other one.

As soon as they were through the door, Brendan gathered them around and ran through the plan.

'The safe is in the office,' he said quickly. 'I'll get the key, Joel, you come around in about ten and I'll pass it to you.'

'Okay,' he nodded.

'You two,' he turned to Doug and Mickey, 'get lost in the crowd for a while, Joel will find you when he has the key.' They nodded too. 'Oh, and lads, remember,' he straightened up a little. 'You're rent boys, act like it.'

The three rushed off and Ste was very aware that he was now alone with Brendan Brady and worse than that, he was alone with Brendan Brady in a gay bar and he had no idea what was expected of him or what Brendan was going to ask him to do.

'Don't look so scared,' Brendan muttered in his ear. 'Come on, I'll get you a drink, help you relax. Beer?'

Ste just nodded. It felt a bit like drowning. He was being blinded by the club's lights, knocked sideways by noise of Cheryl Cole coming through the speakers, and choked by the amount of cologne. There were men everywhere. It was surreal how often he was finding himself in that situation these days and he felt glad for those brief moments he shared with Rae, when things were normal.

'Here.' Brendan pushed the beer into his trembling hand apparently when you're name's Brendan Brady, you don't wait to be served. 'You need to stop shaking, Steven,' he warned. 'You won't be able to do your job otherwise.'

'Job?' Ste gulped, trying not to come across too nervous. He was glad that the loud music was forcing him to yell. It stopped him from sounding timid and weak.

'Keys to the office,' Brendan replied. 'You need to get them from O'Shaughnessy.'

'I thought I was just the "other one",' Ste shouted back. 'Joel's the thief, remember.'

'I remember everything, Steven,' Brendan promised. 'And I don't miss anything either, stealing my BMW keys from Foxy, returning them into Macca's pocket … very clever. Very clever.'

Ste was glad for the dim light so that Brendan couldn't see him blushing, couldn't see the panic tearing through his veins. But Brendan didn't seem angry.

'I admire balls like yours, Steven,' he mumbled, his lips so close to Ste's ear that Ste could feel his moustache tickling the side of his face. 'And creativity. Loosening the lid of the salt shaker, causing the fight, I saw it all. Stroke of genius. Stroke … of … genius.' He punctuated the words by running the back of his forefinger down Ste's arm. Ste was sure someone significant must have been watching them. Everything was a show with Brendan, Ste had learned that from when Lawrence had had his plan ripped to pieces in front of the whole zone. 'I need you to be that creative again, Steven,' he continued, flipping Ste easily so that his back was pressed against Brendan's front. He was pinned like a prisoner against Brendan. It felt uncomfortably comfortable being pressed to the older man like this. 'See him,' the voice was almost soft as it was shouted over the music and into his ear, 'the guy in the jeans and jacket, with the weird hair-do trying to cover up the receding hairline.' Ste just nodded. He was pretty hard to miss in a club of young adults with better fashion sense than Doug.

'That's O'Shaughnessy,' Brendan explained. 'He's got the keys to the office in the back pocket of his jeans.' Ste looked at the jeans, they were about two sizes too small for the man, there was no way he was getting his hand in that pocket unnoticed. He was about the protest the job, but Brendan just mumbled:

'Be creative.' And pushed him towards his target. Ste felt oddly cold and alone without Brendan wrapped around him. He'd almost felt protected. That was something he'd never felt before. He'd always been the one protecting or being rejected.

O'Shaughnessy was stood near the other bar. There were two bars in the club, one for standard drinks the other exclusively for cocktails. O'Shaughnessy was ordering himself a cocktail, a pink one with an umbrella and a straw. Ste was reminded of Brendan mentioning that he was a cliché.

Ste looked the guy up and down and tried to take him in. He was a confident gue and he was older than Ste, a lot older. Ste felt sure this would be the kind of man who'd want to feel like he was in charge, feel like a hero. If Ste was going to get O'Shaughnessy, it was going to have to seem like O'Shaughnessy's idea, so he didn't march over and whispering something lewd in the club managers's ear; he could have, he had plenty of ideas thanks to Larry. But instead he sidled up next to him and hoped that in the huge crowd of men, O'Shaughnessy might notice him; or at least the version of him that was about to start a damsel in distress routine.

'What's your cheapest cocktail?' he asked the man behind the bar. All the barmen at the cocktail bar were wearing skimpy green speedos as part of their uniform, showing off their bronzed chest and cheese grater abs. It was kind of intimidating and repulsive, but mainly it just made Ste feel like he needed to go to the gym.

'The Screaming Orgasm,' the guy replied, lifting his eyebrows flirtatiously.

'Great, give us one of them,' Ste nodded. It didn't take too long to make, and Ste was quite pleased to see that it wasn't pink or purple or some other embarrassingly queer colour. It was white with a stirrer. It could have been Baileys.

'How much?'

'€8.30.'

'How much!' Ste cried, only just managing to keep a straight face when he heard the irish mispronunciation of "thirty". 'I only brought a five, didn't I?'

'Not my problem, sure,' the bartender shrugged, taking the drink back.

'No, wait, wait.' Ste began to search his pockets. It was all for show, he didn't have any money. There was no need for it on The Estate. He was just really hoping that sooner rather than later O'Shaughnessy might step in and save the day. And that was exactly what happened.

'Ah,' he sulked. 'I don't have it.'

'Maybe you should buy yourself a nice, free, water then,' the bartender suggested, making a real show of pouring the drink away.

'Oh, Marky,' O'Shaughnessy chimed in with a thick Irish accent. 'You shouldn't have done that. Make another one.'

'But….'

'Make him another, Mark,' O'Shaughnessy insisted. 'I won't see our young friend here leave this club without having a Screaming Orgasm … or two.' Ste forced himself to act shy at the innuendo and he was overly grateful when the drink arrived.

'Don't mention it,' O'Shaughnessy schmoozed. 'Being in your company is worth the price of the drink … and then some.'

'But what about me,' Ste said. He could be slimy too when needed, when he was being watched and tested by Brendan. 'I get a free drink and I get to be the most admired guy in the room.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, everyone wants to be talking to you,' Ste said, downing his drink and leaning forward to whisper in O'Shaughnessy's ear. 'But only I get to.' He nipped gently at the O'Shaughnessy's earlobe and found himself being shoved away quickly. Dammit! He'd gone in too strong.

'I don't get it,' O'Shaughnessy said, plucked eyebrows furrowing as he called for another round with nothing more than a hand gesture. Maybe he hadn't gone in too strong then. 'Why would a guy as pretty as you want anything to do with an old fart like me, eh?'

'Protection,' Ste said easily, sliding his way back towards the club owner. 'Power,' he added, running his hands over the straining shirt buttons. 'You've got this suave kind of danger about you, and I want to be at your side. I want people to stare at me and think: he must be important him, if that guy picked him.' Ste didn't know where the words were coming from, but they were easy lies to tell. They seemed almost practised on his own tongue, honest somehow.

'Here,' O'Shaughnessy pushed the drink into Ste's hands and he downed it immediately, slamming the glass back onto the counter and practically crawling over the club owner, burying his face in his neck and kissing and sucking beneath the collar. It was disgusting, he smelt of sweat and unwashed clothes, his hair was greasy and oily against his cheek and he tasted like he'd had missed a bit in the shower.

'You carry on like this,' O'Shaughnessy said, flirting in the most boring, predictable way Ste had ever imagined. 'And you'll be having a screaming orgasm of your own.' Ste shuddered at the thought. This was almost as bad as Lawrence, worse even because he'd initiated this. There'd be no complaining if things went bad somehow and he ended up at O'Shaughnessy's place. There'd be no explaining away the reason he wasn't really into it. But O'Shaughnessy clearly took the shudder as a positive reaction and Ste found himself dreading what he knew had to come next. There was only one natural progression from all this over the top flirting and neck sucking, especially as Ste still hadn't had chance to dip his hand in O'Shaughnessy's back pocket.

Dammit! He thought, but it was happening before he had chance to stop it, and he crashed his mouth over O'Shaughnessy. It was weird kissing a man, not horrible just weird. It took him back to the time he'd been with on the run in Manky Manchester Street with Callum, although he had to put more effort into this one, but it was the same kind of "weird but not horrible" feeling he got then too. It didn't feel wrong, it just didn't quite feel right. Kissing Rae felt right, it was thrilling. Though perhaps not as thrilling as allowing his hand to slip to O'Shaughnessy's arse and massage the key free from his pocket.

It didn't take long for him to be dangling the key from his finger and even less time before someone was sliding the key loose. He opened one eye to check it was Brendan. Satisfied he began to slow the kiss, but he needn't have bothered, because next second he felt O'Shaughnessy being pulled away from him and the scolding voice of Brendan said:

'There you are Steven, I've been looking for you. Your client's arrived.'

O'Shaughnessy turned in anger towards the intruder, but his face softened into a false kind of friendly when he saw Brendan.

'Brady,' he beamed, and they shook hands the way old friend's do, other hand gripping the forearm. 'How are you? It's been a while, hasn't it?'

'I'm here sometimes, with my boys,' Brendan shrugged, wrapping an arm around Ste's shoulder and pulling him into his side. Ste couldn't help notice how good Brendan smelt. He'd have to try and find out what kind of aftershave he used.

'Oh, he's one of yours.' O'Shaughnessy said, running a fat, hairy finger down Ste's front. 'I've got to say, your particular brand of council trash is getting more and more refined every day, Brady.'

'We aim to please,' Brendan smiled, waving his hands about like a magician. Always a show. 'Which is why we have to be going. This one's been sold for the night.'

Ste panicked. He looked up at his boss, he was all chin and moustache from this angle. He had this charming kind of smile, stretching his lips thin. He seemed totally in control, and Ste couldn't even begin to guess whether or not he really had been "sold for the night". He didn't think he'd put it past the man.

'You can do a favour for an old friend, can't ye Brady?' O'Shaughnessy laughed. It was forced, even Ste knew that.

'I can do a favour for a few pictures of the renaissance era.'

'Fifties!' O'Shaughnessy exclaimed. 'How many?'

Ste was pretty sure the two Irish men were talking a different language now. His brain was foggy with thoughts of how good Brendan smelt and how strong and calm he seemed, and how expensive his suit looked and how Ste hoped to be like him when he was a bit older and a lot smarter. Or maybe the fog was the three screaming orgasms he'd drunk in the last ten minutes. Whatever it was, he wasn't on his guard. He would probably have missed Joel sneaking up behind Brendan to take the office keys from him if Brendan hadn't suddenly pushed him to arm's length. They were both staring at him now. He felt like one of those mannequins in shop windows, only he wasn't selling a product; he was selling himself.

'My other client's giving me four.'

'€200?'

They were talking money. Well, this foreign Euro crap meant nothing to Ste. They may as well have been asking how many sequins he was worth. O'Shaughnessy looked Ste up and down and Ste could feel him making decisions, adding something up in his head trying to put a price on his body. He felt cheap and worthless. Brendan was just scratching his chin coolly.

'I can do more,' O'Shaughnessy said. He fished into his back pocket and Ste held his breath. He was going to notice the missing keys. But he didn't. He just pulled free a wallet and opened it up. There was so much cash! Notes and notes, crushed together like the pages of a book and in the good old days in Chester, he'd have started making plans around how to steal that money. But this was Ireland and things were different now.

'€250,' he offered, pulling a few amber notes free and passing them to Brendan.

'I told you,' Brendan said firmly. 'He's already got a client.'

'€300,' O'Shaughnessy said quickly. 'Come on, Brady. Ye got yer price for yer boy.'

'To let down another client, to lose his business. It's worth more than €300, O'Shaughnessy, you know that. I'm trying to earn a living.' Brendan didn't falter in delivery, but Ste noticed his eyes flick away for just a split second. He followed the direction of the glance and saw Joel, Mickey and Doug leaving the office and closing the door behind them. The job was done, they had the drugs.

'But for an old pal,' O'Shaughnessy suggested, giving Brendan a forced, friendly thump on the arm.

'Next time, maybe.' Brendan looked at his watch. It was a clever move, distracted O'Shaughnessy's attention for just long enough for Joel to slip the keys into Brendan's other hand. 'I'll keep him just for you,' he promised. Then he reached over and grabbed Ste's hand. To a bystander, it would look like he was trying to pull him away, but Ste just panicked because he felt Brendan push the office keys into his palm. He hadn't counted on this. He hadn't come up with a way to put the keys back, especially now that Brendan had destroyed any chance of him throwing himself at O'Shaughnessy unsuspiciously. Besides, Brendan was still dragging him through the crowd. Thankfully, O'Shaughnessy was following. Ste could feel the hot panting on the back of his neck, smell the fruity cocktail mixed with cigarettes on his breath. It was horrible and then he was pulled into the cold air of an Irish Winter night. There was rain in the air, but it would be strange if there wasn't.

Ste shuddered dramatically and stopped abruptly, making sure O'Shaughnessy bumped into him. He moved towards the man.

'You're warm,' he mumbled, leaning his head back against the club owner's shoulder, snuggling into the man's front. He had a bit of a belly, like maybe he was a few months pregnant and it meant the Ste had to arch his back backwards slightly to achieve the desired effect, but O'Shaughnessy didn't seem to notice, he just ran a hand up Ste's bare arms. It didn't feel too bad, he was drunk now and he was feeling flirty and easy. He'd always been easy when he was drunk.

'You're cold, boy. Here.' O'Shaughnessy slipped his own jacket off and placed it around Ste's shoulders. 'A boy as pretty as you should be treated right.'

'You'd know how to do that,' Ste tried to smile in a way he thought might be sexy. It seemed to work, O'Shaughnessy was fixated on his lips. Ste didn't want to think what the guy might be envisaging, he just took the opportunity to slip the office keys into the pocket of the suit jacket he was now wearing.

'I'd treat you right,' O'Shaughnessy agreed, taking Ste's face in his hand, running the pad of his thumb hard over Ste's lips so he could feel the dirt from O'Shaughnessy's hand pressing on his teeth. 'And then I'd treat you so wrong. And you'd love it. Beg me for more and beg me to stop.'

'Don't stop,' Ste muttered, opening his mouth and sucking his thumb. It tasted like tobacco and other things that were diluted by the amount of alcohol on his tongue.

'You're a little slut, expensive little slut.'

'Be worth every penny,' Ste said easily. And something in his drunken brain reminded him about Euros and he fumbled his correction: 'Every cent, every euro, every … summat.'

O'Shaughnessy just smiled a bit. His grip on Ste's face seemed to be getting harder. It was like he was trying to move the skin around on his face, map out the exact and definite shape of his skull. It wasn't comfortable. He felt less human by the second. He was glad when he finally felt a hand on his shoulder, found himself being torn free from the club owners grip.

'Enough,' Brendan said firmly, pushing Ste towards the car, stripping him of the jacket as he went and passing it back to O'Shaughnessy in one perfectly fluid movement. 'That's all you get without paying.'

'You can't do that to me Brady,' O'Shaughnessy said angrily. 'I want him.'

'You can't have him.'

'I want one of them.' The two Irishmen seemed to be having a stare off. Ste's face was aching from the way it had been held and he could see in his reflection in the blacked out windows of the BMW that he had a few finger shaped blotches marked onto his face. He looked ugly and worthless. His hair was out of place, his clothes were ill-fitting and misshapen from the way Brendan had dragged him through the club and because he was taller than Doug anyway.

'You owe me one of them, Brady!' O'Shaughnessy was angry now. He was squaring up to Brendan, bodyguards tensing at the door of the club. Brendan couldn't take on all of them, and Ste could almost see him realising that Ste, Doug, Mickey and Joel weren't exactly the four lads you'd chose to back you up in a fight.

'Fine,' Brendan said quietly. 'You can have one.' He opened the back door and said calmly: 'Douglass…. Get out.' Doug got out nervously. Ste still hadn't managed to make it into the car. He was lying awkwardly against the side of the car. He couldn't quite work out the complicated handle of the car door, but he couldn't quite figure out how his legs were supposed to hold him up so car doors were the least of his worries.

'Here you are,' Brendan grabbed Doug by the shoulder and pushed him towards O'Shaughnessy. 'All yours, €150.'

'I thought €100 was the average?'

'American,' Brendan shrugged.

'Fine,' O'Shaughnessy scowled, pulling the money from his wallet and punching it into Brendan's chest. 'Pick him up in the morning.' Then he grabbed Doug by the scruff of his neck. 'With me American boy.' Before marching back into the club.

Ste just lead against the bonnet of the car. It was warm and he felt pretty cosy and sleepy there. He still couldn't quite work out what had happened with O'Shaughnessy. He wasn't sure why he'd suddenly given up on Ste and gone for Doug. It was probably because Doug was American, he was interesting, and he had that accent and those teeth and that viral-like optimism. And Ste was just the other one, with nothing to offer except sullen glares and a deep-seated bitterness about the everything. Well, everything except this bonnet, this bonnet was lovely.

'Come on,' he heard Brendan's voice as the man dragged him away from the warmth.

'No,' he half protested, but he let Brendan drag him to his feet and manoeuvre him until he was sitting in a warm car. It was probably better than the bonnet. He felt kind of sleepy and sick now and he closed his eyes, only vaguely aware of a conversation going on around him and only vaguely responding to it.

'Jesus, Ste, how much did you drink?' Scotland asked, pushing something plastic and bendable into Ste's hand.

'Mmm.'

'Watch he don't vomit, yeah' London agreed. 'Drink your water, man.'

'Has he been spiked?' Scotland.

'He's totally out of it, init.' London.

'He's fine.' Brendan. 'Sit back. I can't drive with you two leaning over the gear stick.'

'Hmmm?' Ste asked. It was meant to be "where's Doug?" but the others were too stupid to understand him. So he kept it simple for them: 'Doug.'

'What's he saying?' London.

'Douglass will be fine, Steven.' Brendan said, and it was accompanied by a weight on his leg. 'Might even enjoy his evening.'

'Won't.' London. 'Ain't no one enjoying sleeping with that.'

'Mmm,' Ste mumbled his agreement.

'Shhh. Drink.' That was Brendan and this time Ste felt something against his numb mouth and he felt water gently lapping at his lips. He opened them and began to drink the water.

* * *

EXTRA CHAPTER

* * *

Brendan found himself carrying Steven into his living room with the help of Joel. The boy was heavier than he looked, especially as he was just a little too drunk to do anything other than hang there. He didn't look like he was going to pass out anymore though. He was on his third bottle of water, so now all he was saying was:

'Need to pee. Need to pee.'

'Joel, Michael,' Brendan palmed that particular task off on the other boys. 'Take him to the toilet, down the corridor, first door on the right.' They both just nodded, slinging one of Ste's arms around each of them and staggering towards the bathroom.

'You've lost one,' Macca deadpanned. Brendan hadn't really noticed him until now. He was curled up on the black sofa, surrounded by a thick black blanket. He was basically in camouflage, except for his practically luminous face giving him away. 'Didn't you take the cute American boy?'

'He's still working,' Brendan shrugged. 'It's late, shouldn't you be in bed?'

'I was worried about you,' Macca smiled holding his hand out towards Brendan. Brendan went over and took it, perching himself on the wide sofa next to his partner.

'You knew it was low risk.'

'But you came back without one, and another one looks like he's half dead.'

'He just drank too much,' Brendan explained. 'Though perhaps the same could be said of you,' he picked up an empty wine bottle from the floor. 'You know, you're not supposed to drink on your own.'

'So who am I supposed to drink with, huh?' he demanded, entwining their fingers together and using his other hand to draw patterns on the back of Brendan's hand. 'You were out, Warren and Walker hate me. And everyone in the zones is too scared to talk to me in case you get jealous.' Brendan didn't think that was quite the case, but they were scared that Macca would snitch on them. And Macca _would_ snitch, and then he would whine until something was done about it, so they sort of had a point. But Brendan lied, because that was easier:

'I'm sure you could have found someone to hang out with. Most of the boys in Blue Zone are about your age and the straight ones won't be worried about jealousy.'

'You need to try and be less jealous,' Macca concluded. The irony in that sentence was disgusting, seeing as it was jealousy that was behind the fact Macca was sitting on the sofa all night working his way through a bottle of wine alone. But Brendan wanted to get rid of him before the boys returned from the bathroom so he said:

'I'll try.' And: 'Why don't you head up to bed? I'll be there once they've finished in the bathroom.'

'Okay,' Macca agreed, falling heavily against Brendan's cheek and planting a sloppy kiss near his ear. 'Hurry up and join me. Love you.'

'Mm-hmm,' Brendan half agreed, holding onto Macca's arm as he wobbled to his feet and over towards the staircase. He was sure the boy would pass out as soon as he hit the bed, which would be ideal. Brendan had had enough of drunken juveniles this evening.

When the three Blue Zoners finally reappeared, Brendan pushed a bottle of water into Joel's hand and insisted he and Michael take Steven back to Blue Zone as quickly as they could.

'Make sure he drinks it,' Brendan warned.

'Sure,' Joel nodded, but Steven had drunk too much to be as obediant.

'Hey, Brendan,' he said. He was struggling to stand up, but his words were clearer now than they had been in the car. The water was obviously doing some good. 'You shouldn't have done that to Doug, you know.'

'Done what?'

'Sold him to Old Shock-nessy,' he answered. Brendan almost winced at the mutilated Irish surname.

'I told you, he's probably enjoying himself.'

'Nah,' Ste shook his head furiously, so it looked like it might topple off his neck. 'Nah, no way. Old Shock-nessy, he smelt bad, really, really bad.' He gave a sort of giggle-snort that briefly reminded Brendan of Anne, when she made herself laugh. 'And he was hurting my face. He was all….' Steven reached out and grabbed Brendan's face, sloppy fingers landing almost in his eyes and on his lips. '…. And he said he was gonna hurt me.' Joel and Michael gasped and pulled him away quickly, whilst Brendan got out the threat of:

'_He_ was gonna hurt you?'

'He didn't mean it,' Joel said quickly.

'Nah, he didn't mean nothing by it. He's just well drunk, init,' Michael chipped in. Brendan marvelled at how quickly they became brothers in The Estate. How quick they were to step in and defend one another but Steven was doing himself no favours. He was struggling against his friends wise words and continuing his ridiculous rant:

'Doug, right, he did nothing to deserve that. It was your fault.'

Something snapped in Brendan's head. He might be responsible for a lot of people in The Estate, he might take care of their needs and give them a place to stay but he was not to blame for what happened to them. They came to The Estate knowing what kind of place it was, they went on jobs knowing the risks:

'Leave us,' he said sharply, glaring at Joel and Michael.

'But….' Joel began.

'Now!' Brendan yelled. The three lads ahead of him jumped but only two ran away, one just staggered about still trying to remember how to stand up straight. He was too drunk. Brendan knew that by now. Unless Steven had never drunk a drop of alcohol in his life before, then the lad had definitely been spiked by O'Shaughnessy and that only made Brendan want to make the guy pay. And he would pay, but that would have to wait, because right now, he was itching to hear what Steven had to say for himself. Drunk, stupid, needed to find some kind of filter for his mouth, Steven.

'My fault?' he questioned, when he heard the front door click shut. 'Care to elaborate … Steven.' He was walking towards the lad, and Steven was instinctively stumbling backwards. He was less forthcoming with his words now he was alone.

'That's not what I meant.' He was backtracking. And Brendan could see the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes when he realised he'd backed himself up against the wall. He was sobering up with every single one of Brendan's steps towards him.

'J-just….' Nerves were affecting his words. Brendan liked that. He was back in control. 'Should have been me, shouldn't it? That were my mess. I caused it.' Brendan was so close to Steven now he could smell his cheap aftershave, mixed with nervous sweat and the smell of the cocktail he'd been drinking.

'You almost sound jealous, Steven. You ain't queer, are you?'

'N-no,' Steven answered, but he seemed less confident every single second. They were barely inches apart now. Steven had had to move his head to the side to stop their noses from touching and his face was screwed up with something that wasn't quite fear. 'I'm proper straight, me.'

'You sure?' Brendan lifted one finger and traced a line from Steven's temple over his cheekbone and finishing at his chin, toying with him. ''Cause I ain't never seen a straight boy kiss a man like you kissed O'Shaughnessy.'

Steven shuddered and blushed violently and that answered almost every question Brendan hadn't realised he'd been asking himself since the first time he'd seen Steven, kicking a rock around outside his house in a scruffy old tracksuit.

'Acting, weren't I?' Ste managed to whisper.

'Were you?'

'Y-yeah,' he insisted weakly. 'Just trying to do a good job.

'So, if I kissed you now, you wouldn't enjoy that?' Even Brendan wasn't sure how far he was going to push this. He knew how drunk Steven was, and he knew that the boy still believed himself when he insisted he was straight. But on the other hand, Brendan understood all too well why O'Shaughnessy had wanted Steven so badly, hadn't that been one of the reasons he'd chosen Steven in the first place.

''Course I wouldn't,' Steven said. But:

'You don't sound too confident Steven.'

Brendan reached up and pinched Steven's chin between his thumb and forefinger forcing him to turn around, forcing him to look at him.

Ste's eyes were brighter blue than Brendan had realised. His cheekbones were more protruding than he'd noticed, his ears were a little too big, but it all kind of worked and the defiant-nerves, were kind of a turn-on too. But Brendan found his attention drawn to the boy's lips; plump and soft and blushing pink. He'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wanted Steven from the second he'd seen him take those key's from Warren's pocket. But Brendan was the first to admit (or be told by Anne) that he had a thing for the pretty council rat boy and plenty of those went through The Estate catching his attention for a second. This was the only one who'd held his attention for a whole evening, excluding Macca ... of course. But then, most of his thoughts excluded Macca.

It wasn't Brendan. It was all Steven. The kiss, when it happened. It was all Steven. Brendan may have forced them to look at each other. He may have had them breathing the same air, but Steven was the one who made the move. He was the one who slid his hand to the back of Brendan's neck. He was the one who closed the gap between them. He was the one who flicked his tongue over Brendan's lips.

Brendan didn't respond. Instead, he put a hand on Steven's chest and pushed him back against the wall.

'Interesting,' he smirked, and panic seemed to strike Steven like a lightning bolt. He didn't look as drunk anymore.

'No,' he said quickly, shaking his head and pushing Brendan to arm's length. 'No, no. That were … that were….' This was going to be good. 'That were just an accident.'

'An accident?' Brendan tried not to laugh.

'I didn't.' He shook his head, looking at the floor. 'I've never.' He ran a hand over his face, pulling his face into a weird shape for a second. 'I'm ain't gay,' he insisted.

'Well don't let the evidence distract you from your lies Steven.'

'Nah, right,' Steven was looking at him now. And this time he was angry, furious even. 'That, that just then. That was you.'

'I didn't do anything,' Brendan remained calm. This was fun, watching Steven fight and argue with himself internally. He was enjoying this almost as much as he'd enjoyed watching Joel, Michael and Doug take a few kilograms of cocaine from O'Shaughnessy's cupboard. And he'd enjoyed that almost as much as he'd enjoyed finding out that, if he wanted, he could have Steven Hay bent over and begging for it at the click of his fingers.

'You're messing with me head,' Steven accused.

'I'm not sure I like the way you keep blaming me for things, Steven. Douglass, you kissing me. It's all on you Steven. Whatever happens to Douglass, whatever's going on in here.' He pushed his finger hard into Steven's forehead. 'It's on you, boy.'

'No,' Steven's face began to crumple. His eyes screwed up as few droplets of salty water leaked from them. 'I didn't mean to.'

'To what?'

'To get Doug in trouble. To kiss you. It was…. I was….'

'Drunk,' Brendan offered him the get out clause he was looking for.

'Exactly,' he sniffed, drying his dampening cheeks with his forearm. 'It won't happen again.'

'What won't?'

'Any of it. It won't.' He sniffed again, his eyes flicking up at Brendan and away quickly again. It was like he was scared of looking for too long. 'I'm sorry, Brendan. I don't know why… I mean, I think I just wanted you to like me, you know. You're like king here, I think I just wanted you to notice I existed.' He looked up. Brendan gazed back, not allowing any of his thoughts to show on his face. Steven looked away again quickly, this was becoming faintly annoying. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'That's okay,' Brendan said, cupping Steven's cheek and helping him to wipe away the few stray tears he'd missed. 'It's okay. Now, you just go back to your home, and I'll come up with a way for you to make it up to me. How does that sound?'

Steven nodded. He couldn't quite stop his tears enough to get out any more words, so Brendan just pushed him towards the BMW and dropped him back to Blue Zone.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I hope those of you who wanted a little more Stendan interaction are satisfied!**


	9. Keeping Staff Happy

**Hello lovely readers! I'm back from sunny Oz, so here is your update. They will be a mini update tomorrow too, because … just because.**

* * *

Ste felt pretty ill the next morning. He felt like he'd spent the whole day drinking, then perhaps he'd carried on drinking into the night and possibly most of the morning. But he knew he'd only had 3 Screaming Orgasms and though he had absolutely no idea what was in a screaming orgasm, he didn't think it should have reduced him to such a mess. It shouldn't have been left him hitting on Brendan. What the hell had he been thinking? He wasn't even gay. Or at least, he hadn't thought he was until that strange inexplicable moment last night when it felt like all he'd wanted to do, all he'd ever wanted to do, was kiss Brendan Brady.

'Ahoy!' Joel shouted, announcing himself into the room. The Scottish boy had slept in. It must have been nice to have been able to sleep last night. 'You're still alive then.'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'I'm not sure how many people have put their hands all over Brendan Brady's face and gotten away with it.' Joel slapped Ste heartily on the back and the jolt moved the contents of his stomach around and made him feel a little sick. 'Except Macca, course, but that's not the same. Is it, eh?'

'Don't,' he muttered. 'Still delicate.'

'You would be.' Joel was enjoying this. It was obvious. 'Mate, how many did you have?'

'Three, I think.' Ste was nothing but honest. 'But it got a bit fuzzy there for a while. I can't really remember getting back to Brendan's.' He wished he couldn't remember what had happened at Brendan's either, but that was permanently playing in his mind like a 6 second "Vine" of horror.

'You were asleep most of the time,' Joel explained. 'Well, you know, when you weren't fretting about your boyfriend.'

'What!' Ste blushed furiously. How the hell could Joel have found out about…? 'I ain't gay. I ain't.'

'Woah!' Joel threw his hands up in surrender. 'I was talking about Doug. It was just a joke, mate. You know, 'cause you and him get on so well.'

'Oh, right….' Ste trailed off, twisting his hands around themselves. He felt suddenly guilty. He hadn't really thought about Doug since the kiss with Brendan. 'Has anyone seen him yet?'

'Dunno, have you asked at House 16?'

Ste just shook his head. That was the obvious suggestion really, wasn't it? He could have probably come up with that without Joel's help, you know, if his brain wasn't fogged up with a hangover.

'Have we got anything in for breakfast?'

'Dunno,' Ste shrugged. 'I haven't really felt like eating.'

'I bet,' Joel snickered. 'Is Kev around?'

'Haven't seen him.'

'KEVIN!' Joel bellowed at the top of his voice. The noise sounded twice as loud and twice as horrendous against Ste's sensitive ears.

'Could you not!' Ste groaned, picking up the nearest item, an old trainer, and throwing it at Joel. His aim was terrible. He missed by a good two foot and Joel almost killed himself laughing as he staggered towards their kitchen. Ste just took it as his cue to leave and wander down to House 16. It was raining pretty hard, but Ste didn't bother to grab a coat. Staying dry wasn't particularly high on his list of priorities today.

He knocked on the thin glass at House 16 and peered through the sitting room window. He could see some human shadows sitting around in the dim light and one standing, kicking a football up to himself. That had to be Riley. He knocked louder, and gave half a wave when he thought the shapes might have been looking at him.

'Oh my days,' he heard Mickey's London accent loudly. 'He's still alive.'

The front door opened seconds later and Mickey leant out into the rain.

'Get in here, mate. I wanna hear what happened, init.' Ste wandered over and Mickey grabbed him and dragged him inside when he was close enough. Ste was sort of sick of being dragged about recently. It was happening a lot. He shook Mickey off as he found himself in the sitting room. Spike was there, and Riley but no Doug.

'What did he say?' Mickey asked. 'What did he do?'

'Who?' Ste still wasn't quite with it, despite his cold shower courtesy of the Irish weather.

'Ain't too sharp with a hangover, yeah?' Spike answered for Mickey. 'Brady, obviously.'

'Oh, nothing … yet,' Ste felt shivers run down his spine. 'He says he's coming up with some way for me to make it up to him.'

Riley let out a long, low, whistle. 'Rather you than me mate,' he said slapping Ste on the shoulder with a bit of a relieved smile.

'Hmm, sure. Have you seen Doug?'

'He's upstairs,' Spike winked. 'Got in early this morning, innit.'

'Big night by the sounds of it,' Riley chuckled. 'Bout bloody time though, don't think he's been with anyone since he's arrived. That's a long year with nothing more than a solo performance.'

'As far as I see it, you ain't doing no better yourself mate,' Spike jibbed quickly. 'Too fixed on Mitzeee to get a proper lay, innit. Ain't gonna happen though, mate. She's the madam, yeah. Everyone knows she's getting it on with Warren or Walker … or one of 'em.'

'One day,' Riley insisted, with a wistful look on his face that seemed put-on, or at least exaggerated. 'She'll realise that I'm the one she wants.'

'So Doug's alright?' Ste asked. The conversation had got a big off topic, and he honestly didn't care which one of the prostitutes Riley was interested in, unless it was Rae. Then he could keep his bloody hands, and other things, to himself.

'He's in his room,' Mickey repeated Spike's earlier explanation. 'Go up and see if you don't believe us, loverboy.'

Ste knew it had been a joke. He knew Mickey had been laughing at him for worrying so much, but if there was one thing Ste could remember from last night, it was O'Shaughnessy's disgusting promises when he'd been crushing his face like a stress ball, so he took the opportunity. He walked carefully up the decrepit staircase, with its almost lethal splinters and random holes. Compared to this place, House 4 was like a palace and moved cautiously towards the only shut door upstairs. That had to be Doug's room.

He knocked on the door and swung it open slowly when he heard a blurry:

'Come in.'

'Ste,' Doug smiled tiredly at him, when he peered his head around the corner. 'Everything alright?' He pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position. 'You look a bit ill.'

'Just hung-over, me,' he explained, sliding between the door and wall and closing it behind him. 'How're you? O'Shaughnessy didn't hurt you or anything, did he?'

'Hurt me? No, no.' Doug was practically beaming. 'He talked dirty, but he was a gentleman really. He even had one of the bartenders cook me a Full Irish for breakfast this morning.'

'Oh.' Ste was pleased, but he couldn't shake the feeling that things wouldn't have been that good if he'd been the one to go with O'Shaughnessy. 'So it was good then?'

'Great,' Doug assured him. 'Brendan's even sorted it so I can go back there, you know when the girls visit you.'

'That's good of him, I guess.' Ste wasn't really sure what to think about this. 'I mean, if you're sure. 'Cause he was a bit….' He trailed off, but Doug encouraged him on. So he finished: 'He was a bit rank, weren't he?'

'It's not all about looks Ste,' Doug almost sounded disappointed. 'Sometimes it's about….' And before Ste could stop himself, he said:

'Desperation.'

He left before he could see the hurt in Doug's expression. In reality, he understood Doug. Ste'd found himself growing close to Rae, and she wasn't the best looking girl he'd ever seen, but that didn't matter really. Rae was what he wanted. And that was the thing, sometime people seemed really wrong for you but you just get drawn to them and you can't help yourself.

* * *

Brendan was in his office. The lamp was his only light source, if you didn't count the glare from his computer, so most of the room was pretty dark. He liked it like that. He felt like he was hiding.

He wasn't really doing much, other than checking over the books but Walker was out on a job with a group from Red Zone and Warren had been given the day off to go to England and seek out new recruits, proper recruits, ones that would go straight into Red Zone and give them a bit of muscle power, so Brendan felt he had to be somewhere where he was easy to find today. He'd left Macca in the porch outside acting like a miserable, underpaid receptionist, but he'd left the office door open so he'd be able to hear every snarky exchange with every person unfortunate enough to feel like they needed to see Brendan that day.

There'd only been three. One was a guy from Green Zone moaning about the lack of heating in their weed growing greenhouse. Macca gave the usual answer, the actual vegetables and meat had to come first. They were a semi-self-sustaining community after all. Another was a whiney, wee girl from Violet Zone moaning that the men always had all the perks and they were left with nothing. "Shut up," had been Macca's response, which had suited Brendan just fine. The Violet and Indigo Zones complained about his sexist regime at least once a week, and Brendan always played the diplomat and altered nothing. None of them had left yet so he didn't plan on changing his ways. The third was happening right now, and Brendan was smiling through it.

'Hey pup,' he'd recognised Anne's voice immediately. 'Where's your owner?'

'Is it important?'

'It's me.' Brendan could imagine the smug grin spreading across her wide mouth. 'It's always important.'

'I'm only allowed to disturb him if it's genuinely important.'

'Which sounds like you've been disturbing him with things that aren't important?' Brendan could practically feel Macca's blush coming through the wall. 'That's what I thought,' Anne continued. 'In his office, is he? Thanks pup.'

She pushed the door open and popped her head around the corner. She was beaming, all sticky red lipstick and endless teeth.

'He's happy,' she scorned, flicking on the main light and apparent revelling when Brendan complained about the assault on his eyelids. 'Oh stop moaning you big baby.' She kicked the door closed and fell easily into the chair on the plebe's side of the desk.

'_We_ need to talk,' she said sternly.

'We do?'

'Mm-hmm,' she flicked her hair over her shoulder. She always did that when she was feeling particularly self-important. 'I need more money.'

Brendan immediately lost all interest in her and returned to his game of solitaire on the computer, muttering: 'Don't we all, Anne.'

'Hey,' she reached over and removed his hand from the mouse. He had to pay attention now. 'I'm serious,' she insisted. 'Every time I come here, Warren hits on me.'

'Foxy?' Brendan smirked. He hadn't realised his right hand man was interested in Mitzeee with three "e"s. He wished he had known, he was sure there was a way he could have twisted that to his advantage.

'It's not funny!'

'Not even a bit?' Brendan asked, as seriously as possible and she hit out at him. The desk was a bit too wide for her short arm and she was left flapping at thin air. 'Stop, please,' Brendan scorned. 'You're hurting.'

'I will hurt you,' Anne threatened, but, as smart and ruthless as she was, Brendan found it hard to be genuinely scared of the five foot nothing glamour girl. 'Look,' she said once she realised the threat wasn't working. 'He keeps hitting on me, and I know that my job is to keep your… staff, happy. But if you want me to sleep with him, you need to pay me more money.'

'Well … Anne.' He looked up, she was seriously made-up today. She'd even bothered with some stupid false lashes. 'Just don't sleep with him.'

She narrowed her eyes and showed her teeth in a cute little growl. Brendan was sure that, had she been standing, there'd have been a stamp of the foot. She clearly wanted the money, which was why she hit back hard.

'Follow your lead, you mean.'

'What're you talking about?'

'Well,' she grinned, 'you're clearly not keeping your man satisfied. I mean, I've never seen anyone in more need of a….'

'Yeah, yeah,' he flapped a hand dismissively at her. 'I've got a lot on my mind,' he gestured vaguely to his computer and was glad that she wasn't able to see the pixelated card game on the screen. 'Anyway, I've told him I'll make it up to him. We're about to do the rounds announcing your arrival.' He turned the computer off.

'Well, I guess every gay boy likes a man who can put some power under him, even if that power does come from a V8 engine.'

'Hmmm,' Brendan muttered. 'Actually, I need you to do me a favour.'

'I won't sleep with anyone unless you pay me. In fact,' she changed tact quickly. 'I won't do whatever you're going to ask unless you pay me.'

'If I pay you, it's not a favour.'

Anne just stared defiantly back.

'I'll pay you,' Brendan sighed.

'Good. What am I doing?'

'I need you take Douglass into North Dublin. He's got a date with O'Shaughnessy.'

'O'Shaughnessy?' Anne narrowed her eyes like she always did when she was trying to work something out. 'The bloke you stole the drugs from, O'Shaughnessy?'

'That's the one.'

'Is that wise?'

'Probably not, but Douglass is insisting.'

'Well, he would be. He can't be getting much action in this place. Hey,' she grinned. 'Maybe you could set him up with Macca.' And there was the giggle-snort he'd become used to expecting when Anne made herself laugh. 'You know,' she sighed, pointing a perfectly painted nail at him, 'for a big, old gay, you're not keeping the gays very happy.'

'I'm not old.'

'That's relative,' she shrugged. 'And seriously, there must be about fifties gay guys here. I could probably find some rent boys to satisfy their needs…. For a price, of course.'

'Of course,' Brendan frowned. 'But for free, they can satisfy each other's needs.'

'Aww,' she mocked. 'You're just a big romantic at heart.'

'It works,' Brendan insisted, romance had nothing to do with sex. They both knew that better than most. 'They've all found someone, except there's only one in Blue Zone. He just got unlucky, that's all.'

'Then I guess it's my duty to deliver him to "get lucky",' she chuckled again and Brendan just shook his head, getting to his feet. He pushed her out of the office, ignoring her protests and complaints about how much she'd paid for the dress. Brendan didn't care, it was probably his money anyway.

'Macca, come on,' he called, continuing to push Anne towards the road. 'We're going for a ride.' Macca cheered up immediately and raced ahead of them, opening the double door.

As soon as the door opened, Brendan's eyes were insulted by the monstrosity parked in front of his door.

'Seriously?' he demanded of a very pleased-looking Anne. They were stood next to a brand new hot pink, convertible Daihatsu Copen. This was why she was so desperate for money.

'It's stylish,' she smirked. 'Though the convertible roof _is_ a bit pointless in Ireland,' she linked her arm around Brendan's. 'When are we going to move this operation to LA, Brendan? That's where me and this car belong.'

Brendan had nothing to say to that except:

'Get in.'

::

Macca just loved racing around the streets. He loved that the engine was roaring like a thunderstorm. He loved the endless beeping of the horn. He loved the way everyone was forced to leap out of the way. He particularly enjoyed it when they ran over things people had abandoned in the middle of the street. He just loved the danger.

'Having fun?' Brendan asked, as Macca whooped a bit as Brendan took a corner at 50 and the back end of the car kicked like a wild horse.

'This is brilliant!' Macca beamed and Brendan smiled back. Macca hadn't looked happy at all recently. He glanced in his rear-view mirror. Anne was right on his tail. She was, in a lot of ways, as crazy as he was. He slid around the next corner beeping loudly as they entered run-down, mostly disgusting Blue Zone. He searched the road carefully, flashing his lights. He knew the boys from Blue Zone were more likely than any other zone to actually be on the road.

Then he stamped hard on his brakes and hoped Anne was as good a driver as he thought she was. She lived up to all his expectations, slamming on her brakes and pulling up on his left. She wound down the window and she was smiling like she'd just got laid. He just winked back and answered the question Macca was currently asking for the third time.

'Why have we stopped?'

'Anne's picking up Douglass from here.'

'Well maybe you should tell them that,' Macca frowned. 'They're all staring at us. Bloody mongrels.'

Brendan just rolled his eyes, but his young companion did have a point. There was an air of confusion around Blue Zone, all of them staring at the BMW as though it were some kind of spaceship.

'Tell them the girls are here,' he told Macca. Macca looked pretty excited by the job. He wound the window down and started shouting his message. He said it in three different ways, often with an insult tacked to the end and Brendan briefly wondered what would happen if he just shoved Macca out of the car and drove off. But the thought was only brief because it was then that he noticed some kind of scuffle just out of the beam of his headlights. He was pretty sure he recognised the shadowy shape; Steven.

He got out of the car. Macca fell immediately silent, and Brendan heard the central locking click. Macca wasn't so tough on his own, but Brendan had bigger things to think about as he marched towards Steven. The car's lights throwing a long, menacingly thin shadow ahead of him.

'Hey,' he yelled and the bigger body jumped away and ran away too fast for Brendan to catch who it was. 'You okay?' he asked, placing a hand on Steven's shoulder. Brendan was still squinting into the shadows for a clue for the culprit. 'Who was it?'

Steven just shrugged.

'Steven,' he said firmly, but the boy just shook his head more firmly. 'Fine,' Brendan frowned. 'You're sure you're okay?'

'I'm fine. Just wanna get to the girls, me.'

'Right,' Brendan nodded. 'Course.' He turned to walk back towards the cars, only to find Anne driving up beside them. She wound the window down and smiled knowingly at Steven. She knew nothing.

'You must be Doug,' she said. Case and point.

'Er, no, Ste.'

Brendan saw her perfectly plucked eyebrow raise as he she tried to puzzle a few things together in her head.

'I'm Doug,' an American voice stepped out of the shadows.

'Of course,' she turned her smile on the yank in stupid jumpers. 'Well, get in then. I haven't got all day.' Anne was driving away before Doug had really closed the door properly and as Brendan walked back towards the beemer, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it free. One message from "Mitzeee…x", she'd put her own name into his phone.

He smiled as he read it; perceptive little cow. He typed in his reply and knocked on the window of his car so Macca would know it was safe to unlock it.

* * *

Mitzeee's phone made a noise like a shot-gun being loaded and fired. It was a text tone she'd chosen especially for Brendan. She picked up the phone and held it in front of the wheel as she flicked through to find the message. She ignored Doug's nervous expression and slight mumble about it being illegal to use a phone whilst driving. What kind of vanilla criminal was he?

She glanced down at the screen. There was her text:

"I thought you said there was only one gay in Blue Zone ;) xxx"

And his reply:

"Didn't say I wasn't working on upping the number."

* * *

**There's a lot more to come from this story! Heaps of twists, turns and tantrums on the way.**


	10. Rae and Her Man

**Mini update I promised.**

* * *

Things had felt much more real with Lawrence this time. Ste was sure that if Brendan hadn't appeared out of the light like some kind of misplaced angel, Ste would have had no control over what would have happened. But Brendan _had_ been there, and Ste was now walking towards the Central Square with the other lads like nothing had ever happened.

Ste was excited to see Rae again. There was something nice and familiar about her visits. She was a certain kind of removed from The Estate. She was enough of a stranger than he felt he could tell her things. Maybe that was why he'd spent the last ten minutes talking about his mother's drinking problems.

'Nothing major,' he explained. He was led in the bed, sheets pulled up to cover his tattoo but Rae was cuddled up against him. She was doing that more and more. 'She weren't making herself ill, but she'd rather buy the wine than the food. She introduced me to this world. Had be on the nick when I was still in my pushchair. Used to stow away loads in me pram,' he sighed. He'd forgotten about this until Rae had mentioned that her mother had used her old pram to transport drugs about.

'We used to move around a lot,' Rae sighed, drawing nonsensical patterns on Ste's chest with her nail. 'Mum was a dealer, every new location, one less pair of shoes.'

Ste frowned. What did moving house have to do with shoes? Rae answered the unasked question: 'She'd get her current man to throw them over the telephone wire to let everyone know they could buy stuff in the area. I was practically barefoot for five years.'

'And now look at us,' he sighed, his fingers tangling gently in her long hair.

'Our mum's have a lot to answer for,' Rae agreed, pressing a cotton soft kiss to his chest. 'It's nice this, isn't it?' she said after a moment. 'I'm so lucky to be with you. You hear stories about what the other girls have to do but you're just,' she rested her chin on his chest so she could look at him, 'normal.' She smiled. 'Like, I could imagine this, me and you, in the real world. I could imagine us living together. I'd be an actress and have a side job as a sexy secretary you'd be…. What do you want to be?'

Ste shrugged. He'd never really told he had the option of being something. He'd always just been nothing to everybody.

'Well,' she continued. 'We could work that out.'

'I quite like cooking,' he blurted out, because he was an idiot and his brain had stopped working momentarily.

'So you could be a chef, a famous one, on TV.' She was a dreamer. 'The next Gordon Ramsey. You just need….' She reached up a hand and used her finger and thumb to pinch his forehead a bit. It clearly wasn't working the way she'd hoping and her tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth in concentration. 'Nope,' she sighed, giving up finally. 'I can't give you wrinkles. You're too handsome.'

'Yeah, right,' he squirmed. He strained his neck down to try and kiss her. The angle was awkward and the kiss was clumsy but that was okay. They were a little clumsy together.

'One day,' she smiled against his lips. 'We'll do it, me and you. We'll leave here and we'll be successful.'

'Course we will,' Ste agreed easily, but it didn't feel honest. He couldn't imagine leaving The Estate, not now. He was surrounded by people he could almost call friends and he was protected. Brendan protected him, protected all of them. He'd never been protected by anyone in his entire life and he wasn't quite ready to give that up.

He felt her fall heavy against him. She'd never allowed herself to fall asleep before, maybe she was feeling safe and protected too. And Ste liked to feel like he could provide that for someone else.

* * *

Mitzeee had been sitting in Brendan's chair at the Central Square when he'd found her again late that night.

'What are you doing down here?' he asked.

'I'm playing god,' she smirked, grooming a fake handle-bar moustache.

'I'm no God,' he sighed, falling into the seat Macca usually occupied. 'The devil, maybe.'

'No,' Mitzeee shook her head, wicked grin on her face. 'The devil's specifically described as being powerful and handsome. You're neither, sorry kid,' she patted his face. It was soft and well-maintained by years of moisturiser and Mitzeee kicked herself internally for not realising he was gay when they'd first met. No one who was this well turned out was straight, not unless they were under twenty and had fancy words like "metrosexual" to describe themselves. Speaking of which:

'Goodnight Mitzeee, with three "e"s,' Riley called to her as he wandered past. She could almost feel Brendan's smug, questioning gaze burning a hole in her cheek.

'What!' she demanded, when she felt like she'd been left squirming for long enough.

'Friend of yours?' he asked, failing badly to keep the smirk from his face.

'He's a nice lad,' she shook her head. 'Naïve, but nice. He hits on me every single time I'm here.'

'I'm surprised you're not demanding I give you a raise.' His eyes flickered just slightly to Warren's chair. He needn't have bothered, she'd understood.

'Well, now you mention it….'

'No.' It was a firm and definite "no", and Mitzeee, honestly wouldn't have expected any less. Besides, if she was honest:

'I'd probably only break him. I'm not really a good person, I'm not good for people.' And, as was their friendship, when it got too emotional at the wrong time, it was time to turn the tables on him. Quid pro quo; that was how they opened up to each other.

'So, young Ste…. Is he the new Macca, or the new, new Vinnie?'

'I don't think so,' Brendan shook his head. 'He's a bit … meh.'

'Meh?' Mitzeee demanded. Brendan was an idiot when it came to men. 'No,' she insisted, shaking a finger at him. 'Macca is "meh", that boy is….' She wracked her brain for the right word to describe the little council rat drop-out she'd seen earlier. 'Scrawny,' she settled on eventually. And as he opened his mouth to protest, she put her finger over his lip and moustache and said: 'You like scrawny. They're _always_ scrawny.'

She felt the curve of his smile against her finger and when she removed her hand her own words from earlier echoed in an Irish accent.

'He's a nice lad. Naïve, but nice. And I would break him.'

Mitzeee wanted to nudge him in the ribs with her elbow. She wanted to grin and practically sing: "You like him" until he squirmed but she knew that if she did, he'd flip it around and start asking uncomfortable question about Riley and she wasn't quite ready to face that particular set of feelings yet.

::

It was always late when they got ready to go back to the brothels. The girls gathered in front of Brendan's house, Mitzeee organising them all into one of the fleet busses, travelling all across Dublin to return the girls to their rightful places. Brendan was watching from the balcony sipping a scotch and Mitzeee would glance up occasionally. She wondered whether or not buying Brendan a better Sky package for his TV would stop him spending so much time on the balcony overlooking The Estate but she'd just wave patronisingly and he'd raise his glass in a similar manner.

It was a difficult task, putting people onto the right busses. She didn't even know most of them, only about 30 came from her own brothel, most came from other brothels across the capital but some were what she liked to call "freelance"; college girls hoping to earn a few bob, most of them had huge aspirations. One of them, she knew, had some far-fetched dream of being a lawyer. Mitzeee always felt a little sorry for those girls, they were clueless, and they usually felt like the guy they kept seeing in The Estate actually might think of them as more than a cheap screw. Fools, the lot of them and there were two particularly foolish, fools stood in front of her now as the last bus pulled away.

'We missed our bus,' one practically sobbed. She was dark-haired and Mitzeee didn't recognise her at all.

'Calm down,' Mitzeee sighed. If there was one thing she hated more than disorganisation, it was crying. 'Where do you live?'

'Seafort Gardens.'

'What about you?' she turned to the blonde girl, she at least wasn't crying. 'I'm on the next street over from Lauren.'

Mitzeee thought about her options for a moment. There were only two, squish them both into her passenger seat and take them home or drive away leaving them for Brendan to deal with. Okay, there was one option and she sighed heavily and muttered:

'Get in the car.'

She ignored their questions about where they were supposed to sit. They were hookers, they'd have to have a certain level of flexibility and creativity. They'd figure it out eventually. Mitzeee spent the time she had to wait for them to crap into the seat pretending to be majorly inconvenienced but in reality, the two girls lived almost on the way to her own house.

They were quiet for the first part of the trip, but by the time they were into Dublin, the girls had begun chatting too loudly for Mitzeee to ignore. The blonde girl in particular seemed very excitable.

'It's going to happen,' she kept saying. 'We were talking about it tonight.'

'That's so great,' the brunette was grinning. They were beaming with excitement. Well, that was the typical scene before someone's dreams were smashed to bits.

'What are you talking about?' Mitzeee asked.

'Rae and her man.'

'Her man?' Mitzeee could already see the blonde had fallen into the horrible and difficult-to-get-of trap of "love" on The Estate. 'Her man from The Estate?'

'Uh-huh,' Rae beamed. 'I've only got one man. I'm not a slut.'

Mitzeee almost choked on the irony, but she managed to stop every insult and smart comment that was begging to be spoken. She wanted to hear more about Rae's man, maybe she'd recognise the name and then she could have a real laugh later.

'Course you're not,' she managed. 'But you should probably be careful. Men from that place aren't always saints when it comes to promises.'

'Oh, he hasn't really promised me anything yet,' Rae said. She was glowing like a pregnant woman and Mitzeee really hoped that wasn't going to be the girl's announcement. She couldn't have been much more than eighteen. 'But we've talked about our future. He's going to be a chef, I'm going to be an actress.'

'Aren't we all,' Mitzeee found herself mumbling but Rae either didn't hear or didn't care because she just gushed away:

'We both agreed it felt right, just us living together, a normal life with jobs and an income and things.'

'Rae and Ste,' Lauren sighed. 'It has a ring to it.'

'I know.' Rae reached over and squeezed her friend's hand but Mitzeee wasn't really taking in the giddy excitement. She just thought about the name "Ste" and how that was short for "Steven".

'Steven from Blue Zone?' she found herself asking.

'That's him,' Rae beamed. 'Do you know him?'

'Know _of_ him, but you take some advice from me, sweetheart,' and she felt horribly old departing advice on the younger girls. 'You don't want to get involved with a boy like that.'

'A boy like what?'

'Just….' She halted, it wasn't really her place to pass on to Rae that the boss had his sights set on her "man" and the boss always got what he wanted. So instead, she told her own story: 'Look, when I was starting out, I found a boy … just like Ste. I was head over heels and we were making all these plans together. Travel the world … hell, take over the world; the dream team. But things went south … quickly.'

'What happened?'

'He wasn't the man I thought he was,' she shrugged. 'Wasn't the man he thought he was either,' she smirked at her little joke. 'And eventually he found the boy who showed him just what kind of man he is.' But Rae was blindly protesting her love and didn't hear the wisdom.

Mitzeee was bored with the illogical dreamy optimism, she just thought about how much she didn't miss "straight Brendan". He'd been so damn miserable and self-hating all the time. This Brendan was only miserable _most_ of the time, and was too busy hating his poorly-chosen partners to hate himself. This was definitely a better version of Brendan Brady and she was a better version of Anne; she was Mitzeee, with three "e"s.

* * *

**Apologies for the "slowness" of this chapter, but there's a few things "hidden" within it that will be important in chapters to come. ;)**

**Love and cwtches,**

**InconspicuousBunneee (with three "e"s).**


	11. The Switch

**A lot of people are asking for more Stendan, so here's a quick breakdown:**

**There's some Stendan interaction at the beginning of this chapter and **_**important**_** Stendan interaction at beginning of the next chapter. It'll be pure, unadulterated Stendan in chapter 12 (called Barcelona).**

**For those of you who would prefer to skim-read the non-Stendan build up (and I totally understand, this is supposed to be Stendan fanfiction after all), you can message me for a quick summary of the next few chaps and I'll hopefully see you again in Barecelona. ;)**

**For the others, we continue….**

* * *

'I need one of yous to take Douglass into town tonight,' Brendan said over dinner. It was particularly noisy around Central Square tonight and he found himself shouting around the crap Yellow Zone were attempting to call dinner.

'Are we sure it's a good idea to keep taking Doug to O'Shaughnessy?' Walker asked, standing his fork upright in the solid blob of gunk masquerading as rice. It didn't move.

'It's not a bad thing to make O'Shaughnessy think we're all on good terms,' Warren chipped in. 'When are Blue Zone cooking again?'

'Five days,' Brendan groaned, pushing his own plate away. He and Macca could order pizza later. 'Five days of meals that taste of nothing and look like vomit.'

Macca laughed and nuzzled his head into Brendan's arm. They were on good terms again now, though Brendan wasn't sure what had brought about Macca's change of mood. Not that he was complaining.

'They'd cook everyday if I was in charge,' Warren muttered bitterly. 'Give us a reason to keep them around.'

'We'll you're not in charge,' Macca spat. He was so defensive of Brendan's position at The Estate, but if Brendan wasn't king then Macca would be nothing.

'Exactly,' Brendan agreed, as though anyone needed reminding. 'And stop changing the subject,' he warned, looking up and catching Steven's eye. He gestured the boy over. 'One of you needs to drive Douglass into town.' He found himself nodding towards Steven as the clueless idiot pointed to himself mouthing: "me?"

'What time?' Walker asked, putting his cutlery down noisily. His attempt at swallowing the rice was clearly over.

'When the girls arrive,' Brendan shrugged.

'But we've only got one car,' was Walker's response.

'And that's being used when the girls arrive,' Warren protested. Working together, like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee.

'We'll use Anne's car,' he said. That wouldn't be a problem and if it was a problem, he wouldn't care. 'Oh, and Warren, Anne's asked me to tell you to stop.'

'Stop what?'

'Everything,' and noticing Warren's blank expression, he added: 'She's not interested in over-weight Mancs with a hair loss problem.'

Walker chuckled. Macca laughed like he'd never heard anything as funny, which made everything significantly less funny.

'Nah,' Warren shot back angrily. 'She prefers hanging out with poofs.'

'That still isn't going to work out well for you,' Walker pointed out with a cool smile. 'Unless there's something you want to tell us.'

'Do you two want to keep your teeth?' Warren demanded, eyes shining wildly as he attempted to threaten the men sat either side of them. 'Eh? Eh?'

But his threats were being ignored and that seemed to wind him up more than if he'd just been punched in the face.

'Ah,' Brendan smiled, as Steven approached the table, anxiously fiddling with the zip on his hoody. 'Here's someone who can give us an answer.'

'Answer to what?' Steven asked, and Brendan couldn't help notice that the lad wasn't even half glancing at him, apparently the table was very interesting to young Steven.

'We're discussing whether or not Warren here is into men,' Walker smiled.

'How should I know?' Steven asked. He looked confused, though Brendan suspected it didn't take too much to confuse the lad.

'Are you saying I look gay!' Warren demanded.

'Nah,' Steven shook his head. He seemed terrified now. So many emotions, so quickly, it was probably frying Steven's limited brain cells. 'I'm saying, how could anyone tell about anyone? You just never know who's gay, do you? Look at Brendan.'

Brendan found himself smirking at that, but his game wasn't over yet.

'Warren would know though. If he was gay, Warren would know,' Brendan continued. 'So I guess we have to take his word that he's not gay, right?'

'I guess,' Steven just nodded. He was still very, interested in the table.

'I mean, you'd know,' Brendan pressed, tilting his head a little. He was probing for a reaction, pushing for that redness in Steven's cheeks that made him look younger and more innocent somehow. 'You'd know if you were gay, wouldn't you Steven?'

'Yeah, 'course. I'm not though, me.' He explained carefully addressing each member of the table. 'I'm proper into girls. Love 'em.'

'What's the phrase,' Walker mused. 'The boy doth protest too much.'

Brendan chuckled and asked: 'Just who are you trying to convince, Steven?'

He couldn't help himself. It was fun watching the lad squirm. It reminded him of burning ants with a magnifying glass when he was kid during the two days of Irish summer they had a year.

'No one,' the boy blushed, his face screwing up like he'd been punched in the gut. 'Just saying, aren't I? And,' he turned his attention to Warren, 'just for the record, like, I don't think you are gay.'

'I could say the same about you,' Warren replied, but the boy needn't have looked so pleased because Warren was just setting for Walker to spike home with:

'But he'd be lying.'

Steven either didn't hear or had chosen to ignore the second comment. He just fidgeted, uncomfortably shuffling from foot to foot. He'd be aware that almost every person at the Central Square, over five hundred pairs of eyes, were focused right on him. But wasn't that what Steven had asked for that night when he was drunk? Hadn't he wanted to feel special? Well, he was special right now. He was the most famous person in the place, but he didn't seem to be enjoying the new-found attention.

'Is that all?' he mumbled eventually.

'No, this is.' Brendan held up his disgusting plate of gloop. 'You can cook, right?'

'Bit.'

'Go and turn this into something edible.'

'And how am I supposed to do that, eh?'

'Be creative,' Brendan whispered, pushing the plate into the boy's scrawny chest. 'Now scram, and be quick.' Steven nodded silently and rushed off back to his table. Brendan had no idea what the lad was likely to bring back. Whatever it was, it would definitely be an improvement.

He could feel Macca's scowl, sense the pout long before Walker cleared his throat which was his code for "your boyfriend's about to throw a hissy fit". Brendan usually disappeared before major hissy fits, but at dinner time, he was kind of stuck.

'What?' Brendan sighed. He didn't bother to look at Macca. He could imagine how he'd look and it wouldn't be even remotely attractive.

'You like him,' was the predictable, whiney response.

'That,' Brendan pointed towards Steven. He was leaning over Brendan's plate of food and seemed to be drowning the gloop in a mix of ketchup, brown sauce and seasoning. 'You don't have to worry about that, Macca.' He smirked, as Steven began to walk back towards him with the plate. 'I just like pulling the strings and watch him dance.' And when Steven stepped back onto the platform with the plate of flavoured mush, Brendan proved his point by calling:

'Fetch. Good boy.'

* * *

Mitzeee had text. Her and girls had just arrived, Brendan looked up. He was slouched in his sitting room with Walker and Warren. They were playing the most one sided game of chess the world had ever seen. If he couldn't kill it or threaten it, it wasn't really Warren's thing. Tactics were Walker's forte, which he proved by calling "check-mate" for the third time in twenty minutes. Brendan couldn't actually work out what was keeping Warren in the game.

A car honked outside.

'Anne's here,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Have you two decided which one of yous is driving Doug in to town?'

'We've had a thought about that, actually,' Warren said, glancing to Walker, who just gave him a reassuring nod.

'A thought, between the two of you,' Brendan feigned over-whelming pride, clutching his chest and pretending to well up. 'I knew this day would come. I feel like a proud da.' And through the twin scowls he asked:

'Are you going to tell me the thought? Or am I supposed to guess? I'll let you in on a secret.' He stepped forward and whispered loudly: 'I'm no psychic.'

'We're not going to town,' Warren blurted out, Walker backing him up with another firm nod. 'Walker's going to grab himself a girl, 'cause he missed out last week. I'll drive around and let the boys know the girls have arrived and _you _can drive in to the city.'

'Me?' Brendan pointed to himself. 'Drive to the city?'

'Yeah,' Warren seemed to be gaining in confidence.

'And you, drive around here as the alarm?'

'Exactly.'

Brendan stared at him for a moment. He tilted his head to the side. He was curious to see if Warren would back down. He didn't and Walker stood firm too. Interesting.

'Okay,' he conceded. 'I'll drive to town.'

And with that he marched outside to greet Anne. She kissed him on the, cheek which was something she always did but Brendan enjoyed it more than usual today because he knew Warren was watching. And Warren's day was only going to get worse as over the hill came Doug flanked by Brendan's working boys for the night.

'Riley, Bartholomew, Spi-. I'm sorry, I can't say it. Spike's the name of an idiot.'

'It's what my parents called me, innit.'

'Really?' Brendan scowled. 'They couldn't have just called you "Paul"?'

'I ain't no "Paul", bra.'

Brendan twitched a little: 'Did you just call me "bra"?'

'Brendan doesn't have much experience with those,' Anne laughed her little head off at her joke. She was the only one brave enough, but the others were poorly supressing smirks. He would not allow himself to be made a fool of.

'You,' Brendan glared at Anne. 'Don't try and be funny. You,' he turned to the four lads. 'Get in the car,' he pointed to his BMW. 'We're going to town.'

'What!' Warren exclaimed. 'No. I'm taking the beemer.'

'No,' Brendan replied, as though this should have been obvious. 'You're doing the rounds. I remember you being very specific about it. So you need to take Anne's car.' On cue, she smiled sweetly as she held the keys between two fingers and dangled them ahead of Warren. The key fob was pink and fluffy; brilliant.

'My car needs to go to town,' Brendan continued. Every moment feeling like a small victory. 'I need to make back my petrol costs. These boys,' he jerked a thumb towards the three lads in the back of the BMW, 'are going to go around the town making us money.'

He could almost feel the heated hatred coming off Warren. Walker, however, seemed to be mildly impressed and was almost enjoying this as much as Brendan was. Macca was of course barely able to contain himself, which prompted Anne to threaten:

'Stop laughing like a hyena or I will slap you so hard you'll be seeing stars for days.'

'Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?' Macca demanded. Brendan paused, for dramatic effect, it was all about the show and then:

'Yes.' He patted Macca on the arse as he moved towards the car. 'Be good,' he warned. 'That goes for all of you.'

::

Warren had been more than angry when he'd returned from his rounds. He'd stormed through the double front door practically snapping the hinges.

'Someone's in a mood,' Mitzeee and smiled. She couldn't help herself. It was all just too easy. 'You better not have damaged my car.'

'Your car's damaged me,' he seethed, spit flying from between his teeth. Attractive.

'How poetic,' she shook her hair behind her shoulders. She was wearing a dress that clung to her, a big, glamorous fur coat which she hadn't bothered to close at the front. Well, why cover her best assets? Warren certainly seemed to be enjoying them.

'I'm serious. Should have seen the looks I was getting.'

'I've seen the way you boys race 'round here,' she said smugly. 'The only looks you would have seen would have been blind panic as they tried not to get their heads smashed on my windscreen.'

He narrowed his eyes and unzipped his coat, dropping it onto the floor behind him. Brendan wouldn't like that. His house was immaculate at all times.

'So,' Warren said in low, gravelly voice. 'We gonna do this, or what?'

She'd been in this business long enough to know exactly what Warren was talking about. She wasn't stupid. She knew what people wanted and she knew how to give it to them but not Warren. She was too expensive for him. So she played dumb, it was what most men liked from her anyway, all men, in fact … except Brendan. But then Brendan had no interest in what she was actually good at so, he was different.

'Do what?' she blinked, the perfect picture of innocence.

'You know what,' Warren continued, ripping his t-shirt off over his head. Mitzeee found herself wondering if this tactic had ever worked on any woman. It certainly wasn't working on her.

'I don't sleep with the men on The Estate and Brendan doesn't pay me to keep you satisfied,' she said, business-like. 'There're plenty of girls in Central Square. You know, if you're desperate.'

Warren let out a sharp bark and glared at her. She didn't even jump. Knowing Brendan for so long had rendered her practically immune to the unexpected. She pulled her coat around her, Warren had seen enough for free, and strutted towards the door. She was feeling pretty in control until she felt a hand grip her wrist like a coiled boa constrictor and the hiss of the snake in her ear:

'You listen to me,' he said, hot breath against her cheek. 'You may be Brendan's favourite, but we both know you're no better than the whores you bring here.'

'I'm not for sale. Not to you, not for a price you can afford.' She tried to sound strong, but she suspected she was failing. The grip on her wrist got tighter, it was like her was trying to powder her bones in his grip. She clenched her teeth to stop herself from crying out. She was scared now. Truth was, for all her big words, there was no way she could overpower a man like Warren.

'Hey,' she heard a voice interrupt them. It was a calm voice with an English accent, the only voice, except for Brendan's, that was likely to halt Warren.

They both looked up. Walker looked pretty stern as he brushed his 90s boyband hair away from his eyes. 'Let her go, Warren. She's said "no".'

'She's a hooker,' Warren groaned, his face pleading with Walker. 'She doesn't get to say "no".'

'She's a lady,' Walker smiled at her. It was actually quite creepy. Mitzeee couldn't quite remember ever having seen Walker smile before. Besides, she would definitely _not _describe herself as "a lady". 'Anyway,' he turned back to Warren. 'Brendan wouldn't like it.'

Warren scowled for a few seconds and then just grunted something indecipherable and collapsed onto the sofa.

'Perhaps you should find somewhere else to hang out,' Walker suggested. 'As Brendan's not here, there's really no need for you to be either.'

'Same could be said for the two of you,' she replied with an air of politeness. 'Don't you have your own homes to go to?'

But she didn't stick around for the answer, she snuck outside and got in her car to drive to Central Square. She wasn't going to walk, she didn't walk anywhere in 6" €200 heels.

* * *

'So, er, how's your week been?' Ste asked. He was lying in bed with Rae and this was the time she usually expected them to talk. She'd been pretty silent so far and it was slightly awkward.

'Yeah, alright. I started some extra acting classes. _We were working on our American accents,_' she drawled in what Ste had to assume was her attempt at an American accent. It probably needed some work.

'That's good, yeah,' he encouraged. 'Bet you're proper good at acting, you. I can see it, now lights everywhere and right in the middle, your name; Rae, er….'

'Wilson,' she finished for him.

'Right, yeah, probably should have known that really.'

'Why?' she asked. She sounded a bit distant, almost angry. 'Why should you know anything about me? This is the only time we ever get to see each other. We only talk, after we've slept together.'

'Yeah, well you are a….' He stopped. He didn't think calling a prostitute was going to help her mood. 'You're busy,' he omitted. 'And I'm here.'

'But wouldn't you like to go on a date? A proper date, like proper couples.'

'Yeah, it would be nice, but….'

'But nothing,' she frowned, sitting up so the sheets fell from around her and Ste was all too distracted for a moment to really listen. 'We talk about this amazing future, us living normal lives and being famous and things, but we've never even been to Dublin together. You should come to my show this weekend or we could go to the cinema or something?'

'Sure,' he nodded, vaguely. He'd probably agree to anything at the moment. He wasn't actually entirely sure what she was saying. But he heard the next sentence, loud and clear:

'So you'll talk to Brendan.'

'What? Brendan, why?'

'About coming to my show.' She was acting like they'd been discussing this. 'I mean, I'm assuming he has a say on whether you can leave in the evening.'

'I dunno,' Ste shrugged. He honestly hadn't thought about leaving. Ever since he'd arrived on The Estate, he hadn't had the slightest thought to leave.

'Well, you need to find out Ste,' she almost sounded forceful. He quite liked that about her, especially when she straddled him and began kissing at his neck. 'Ready for round 2,' she asked, licking a hot, wet line over his outer ear.

'Always,' he grinned, catching her mouth in a kiss.

::

It was 3am, and Ste was sneaking a last couple of kisses with Rae. She was more giggly than usual, and she somehow seemed prettier and innocent tonight. Maybe it was just because the girls Joel and Bart had picked up were right mingers.

He walked her as far as the road and she'd kissed him again, deep and passionate and far more loving than a prostitute and client should be. But they were far more than that, Ste knew it. But of course it was that moment that Kevin, Bart, Spike and Doug returned.

'Wahey!' shouted Kevin, a look of pure delight across his face. 'Is that wedding bells I hear Ste?'

'Aw do one,' Ste shouted back, taking Rae by the hand.

'N'aww,' Spike chimed in. 'Thinks he's in love or summat, innit.'

'I said do one,' he repeated. He got why this was so funny. None of the other boys gave a toss about the birds they'd picked. Bart didn't even look at his girl, and Joel had just given his half a wave. Though Ste suspected things had gone a bit sour after the night he'd first arrived and Joel had seen his bird earning money with that good looking tosspot from Red Zone, the one with "Reem" written on almost every t-shirt he owned. Rae wouldn't do that to Ste thought, she was different.

'I've got to go or I'll be late' Rae said, pulling her hand away and planting a kiss on his cheek. And as she walked away, she called back: 'You'll find out about my show.' She ran down the pavement then, because she always turned up in trainers rather than heals, because she was real. She wasn't all about the money, she was special. Of course the lads would have to ruin that.

'You'll find out about my show,' Bart mimicked, doing an over exaggerated run and flicking imaginary blonde hair over his shoulder.

'Leave her alone, right,' Ste snarled. 'Where the hell have you been anyway?'

'Dublin,' Kevin answered.

'Dublin. Why?'

'Fancied a lads night out, innit,' Spike shrugged. 'Went on a good old fashioned Irish pub crawl.'

'Really?' Ste was amazed. Was it really that easy to leave and go to Dublin and get drunk?

'No, course not.' Bart scoffed. 'Brendan would never allow anyone to just leave for no reason.'

'It's like the unwritten rule, innit?' Spike added. 'You stay until you're useless.' Now that Ste thought about it, they were all very clearly _not_ drunk, just buzzing off the trip but he pressed on, any hope of seeing Rae's show fading fast:

'So no one ever just goes out for the night to visit family or something?'

'No one here's got any family, Ste,' Kevin chuckled giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. 'That's why most of us are here. No family, no money, no chance.'

'I wouldn't even want to leave,' Bart added loudly. 'I've got nothing outside The Estate.'

'I'm with you, mate,' Spike nodded. 'Nothing out there for me except prison and sleeping rough.'

'Nothing for me neither,' Ste agreed, trying to mask his disappointment. He wasn't sure how bothered he'd been about going to see Rae's show before, but now that it had been taken away from him it suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world.

'So if you weren't getting drunk, why were you in Dublin?' Joel asked. He had a can of beer in his hand, and his shirt was off and slung around his shoulders. It was way too cold for that, but everyone in Blue Zone knew that Joel was on a new diet and exercise regime. Now it seemed he was ready to show off the outcome.

'We were on a job,' Spike answered. 'Trying to earn back Dougie's petrol money. You got any more of those?' he pointed to the can.

'Loads,' Joel nodded. 'Go and grab the other lads, we can hear tales from Dublin's fair city.'

Spike ran off shouting something about being back soon and: 'Don't expect Doug, poor little guy's exhausted.'

Doug always looked exhausted when he came back from O'Shaughnessy and Ste couldn't stop his brain from assuming that the fat man in the too tight clothes was obviously a pretty good lay.

::

'Should have seen some of the stuff we picked up,' Kevin smirked, opening up a can. 'Tourists, it's just too easy sometimes. We snagged this Spanish woman's purse; €500, just like that. Who the hell walks about with €500 in their pocket?'

'Someone who doesn't care about money,' Joel shrugged.

'The foggies,' Spike and Mickey said in unison. And Mickey explained: 'Everyone knows old people is scared of debit card, innit. At Christmas, they is practically walking 'round with their life savings in their pockets.'

'And they is old,' Spike agreed. 'Lots of savings, innit.'

'Yeah, just don't try to break into their houses.' Ste was well into his second beer, and trying not to think about asking Brendan to be allowed to go on his non-date with Rae. 'Some of them have got burglar alarms you know, in case anyone wants to steal their black and white television.'

'Bad experience, Ste?' Bart snorted, scoffing his face full of Doritos. He wasn't drinking but he sure as hell had taken something.

'Chased by the police for twenty minutes, though Chester,' he said, remembering his final job with Callum as vividly as if it were happening right now. 'And the old bat had was a DVD player from 2001.'

'Someone would buy it though,' Spike pointed out. 'Someone'll buy anything.'

'It got smashed up during the chase,' Ste shrugged.

'How?' Joel asked. He really seemed to be enjoying this story.

Ste shrugged a bit: 'Knocked it against a wall, I think.'

They were all laughing now.

'Wait, wait,' Kevin held his sides as gasped a bit as he tried to stop laughing long enough to form an entire sentence. 'Let me get this straight, you robbed an old ladies house, who had a burglar alarm, the only thing you manage to nick is a DVD player,' the laughter started to bubble through his words.

'From 2001,' Bart helpfully chipped in.

'From 2001,' Kevin repeated. 'And in the chase, you managed to break the DVD player so you couldn't even sell it on.' He was laughing so hard it looked painful, they all were. And even Ste found his mouth betraying a smile when Kevin said: 'Ste, mate, seriously … how did you eat?'

'Shu'up,' but even he couldn't stop the smile as the conversation broke down into good-natured arguing.

Ste was a bit tired now, his blinking was getting longer and beginning to feel more and more like sleep. He only came out of his slumber-like daze when Riley came through the door. The grin on his face was bright enough to wake anyone from near slumber.

'Oh hello,' Kevin nodded towards the latest arrival. 'Someone's looking pretty pleased with himself.'

'Don't tell me you finally managed to convince Mitzeee to drop her standards to you,' Joel frowned, throwing a beer at Riley's head. He caught it deftly and Ste was mildly impressed. If Joel ever did that to him, he'd end up in A&E with a broken nose.

'A gentleman never tells,' he smirked tapping his nose with a finger before opening his beer.

'Good thing you're not a gentleman,' Kevin snorted.

Ste didn't really have the energy to join in. He was still wondering about Doug. He found it sort of strange that the yank never wanted to hang out with them after he'd been to O'Shaughnessy's. And he was wondering how the hell he was supposed to ask Brendan about going to see Rae's show, and somehow getting the money to pay for it.

'Look mate,' Riley said, sitting down and stealing a few Doritos from Bart's bag. 'All you lot have to know, is that it was the best night of me life.'

'He has you know,' Spike nodded honestly, looking at Mickey. 'He's done it.'

'He has,' Mickey agreed in the same earnest way. Then he grinned: 'He's lost his virginity.'

'Finally,' Spike added. They were both keeping amazingly straight faces as alcohol and post-coital bliss had the other boys laughing their heads off.

'Congratulations.' Mickey punched Riley on the arm.

'You two are a pair of tits, you know that.'

'Well, you've seen what they look like now so….'

Ste just excused himself quietly. He couldn't keep up with all this. He had too many thoughts running through his head: Doug's health, Rae's show, Brendan's payback. He needed to sleep.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your time! **

**Love and cwtches,**

**Sisi...xx**


	12. Revenge Tastes So Sweet

**It's been tooooooooo long! Update on Tuesday to make up for the wait.**

* * *

The girls were going to arrive soon and Ste hadn't quite psyched himself up to ask Brendan about going out for the evening yet. He'd been thinking about it. He'd thought about it throughout every dinner time at Central Square. He'd look up at the main table, he'd see Brendan talking with Warren and Walker. He'd see Macca touching Brendan's arm and earning himself a glare and he'd think about walking over and just asking the question. But something would always happen, a fight over at the Red Zone table that would leave everyone involved to go hungry. A protest thrown by a vegetarian. Brendan didn't cater for veggies, he wouldn't listen to their "nonsense" and Ste would realise that his request to go out for the evening with Rae was more than likely going to be thrown back in his face.

Still, Rae was on her way and Ste didn't really want to let her down. He liked her and she seemed to like him, which was a novelty for someone like Ste. Rae was a bit of normality in this weird place he found himself in. So, after being told by Joel, Bart and Kevin, that he looked a "bit ill mate."

He decided it was time to bite the bullet, or potentially take a bullet straight to the face, and speak to Brendan. After all, it was better to anger Brendan than disappoint Rae.

It was an unfortunately long walk to Brendan's house from Blue Zone. Every step brought an internal war, he felt like a little girl playing 'he loves me, he loves me not' with a daisy. Except this was more, "he'll kill me, he'll me not" with a madman.

The door was open when he reached Brendan's house. He had no idea whether that was normal. He'd been in too much of a daze the last time he'd been here, but he could remember where the office was. Surely, he'd be allowed to go there … probably, maybe. Who knew what the rules were in The Estate?

He pushed the front door open a little more and walked towards the office door. The office door was open, only a little, but it was enough to be able to clearly hear the conversation going on inside.

'How could you screw up this badly, Walker?' That was Brendan's voice, pitching slightly higher in anger. Ste could imagine how he looked; red-faced, the vein in his forehead popping a little. 'You only had to take O'Shaughnessy's drugs to Iago in Barcelona and bring the money back. It was easy. You had half of Red Zone with you. Unless of course you thought they were a real football team that had won a real trophy?'

Ste could imagine the glares shooting between the two men. It was be charged in that room but when Walker spoke, he barely raised his voice at all, and Ste found himself edging closer to the door to hear properly.

'A better opportunity came up. You weren't complaining when we came back with the money.'

'I didn't realise the money was instead of the job. I thought that was a bonus. But now I've got that Spanish nutcase breathing down my neck, threatening my family.'

'He's not threatening your family Brendan. Your sister's safe. He'd just attack this place.'

'And that's better? The Estate is my life, it's all of their lives. And because of you Walker, you, their lives are in jeopardy!'

Walker said something back, but Ste couldn't quite make it out. Was that something about a drama queen? He shuffled closer to the keyhole. Was he apologising? Or was that…? But he didn't even get to finish his thought because the door began to open slowly.

Damn!

He'd leant on it.

What an idiot!

And he fell through the now open space where the door had been and found himself lying on the dusty floor.

'Oh, erm….' he fumbled.

There was no explaining his way out of this one. Walker looked almost as amused as he was angry. Brendan was practically pulsating with furious disbelief and for a split second, Ste convinced himself Brendan's anger was going to be the last thing he ever saw.

'Were you eaves dropping, boy?' Brendan hissed. It was like his anger had constricted his throat as he came around the desk. 'Listening in on what I have to say?'

'No, I swear. I was just…' But Ste didn't need to come up with a lie, because Brendan had already yanked him up from the floor by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the brick wall. Ste's back protested the pain, but Ste knew better than to complain.

'What other reason would you have for being here?' Brendan asked. He was a bit closer to Ste than was comfortable and he was lifting Ste off the floor, so he could only just reach the floor with the very tips of his toes. He felt completely helpless, though that wasn't a new feeling for when he was around Brendan.

'I was just coming to ask you if I can go out tonight,' he coughed out. Every word felt desperate, like he was fighting for his life. And it had worked, because Brendan loosened his hold and Ste was able to find a better footing.

'Go out?' Walker asked. He was smiling even if Brendan wasn't.

'To the cinema,' Ste clarified, straightening out his t-shirt when Brendan let him go. 'On a date, like … with Rae … tonight … or whenever, I guess. Whatever you say's alright.' He was hoping one of them would interrupt, so that he could stop speaking. He was almost grateful when Brendan twitched his head slightly to one side and sneered:

'A date? With a prostitute?'

'Don't call her that,' Ste frowned. He didn't think of Rae like that, she wasn't like the other girls.

'She sleeps with you for money, Steven, what would you want me to call her?'

'Perhaps hooker,' Walker suggested, which just stretched Brendan's stupid moustache into an idiotic grin.

'She's better than that,' Ste insisted and Brendan finally allowed him to move away from the wall. As he moved, Ste was made more aware of the face that his back was bruised. He tried to stretch it subtlety as Brendan rolled his eyes and went about imparting advice Ste hadn't ask for and caused Ste to reply: 'She's going places, her.'

'She's using you, Steven. Girls like that don't want dates. They want money, your money, my money.'

'No. You're wrong.' Ste knew Rae. He knew who she was. 'Anyway,' he felt smug. 'How would you know what women want?'

'He's got you there,' Walker deadpanned.

'Don't you think you've done enough damage,' Brendan snarled at him. Walker didn't even flinch. He was the constant picture of calm as he strolled towards Brendan and put a hand on his shoulder and lips near his ear. Ste had to strain his ears to hear the whispered:

'And now you need a partner to travel with.' Ste saw Walker's flick onto him, searching his whole body, up and down. 'God knows it's believable.'

Ste didn't understand, but Brendan seemed to and his face twisted up to something between a laugh and scowl as he looked seriously at Ste.

'Steven,' he all put whispered. 'I think I'm come up with a way for you to pay me back.'

::

Steven looked nervous. His eyes kept darting around, maybe he was looking for a fire escape to sneak through, or a window. He wouldn't find one in Brendan's office, this was where he held people, where he trapped them, where he was king.

'Now?' he asked. He'd asked that question about a hundred times already, followed by the same, tried: 'I can't. I'm meant to be meeting Rae.'

'Can you hear what you're saying? I'm offering you a trip, a free trip, five star hotel in Barcelona, for _free,_' maybe he hadn't emphasised that enough, 'and you're telling me you wanna stay here and play happy families with a hooker.' It was unfathomable. The lad was an imbecile.

'Stop calling her that.' He almost seemed angry. Bit of passion, there was nothing wrong with that, even if it was being channelled poorly.

'Get over it, Steven. She _is_ a hooker.'

'But….' He had nothing, and Brendan was sick of listening to all his nothing.

'Look, I'm not asking you, Steven,' he said firmly. 'I'm telling you. I'm calling in my favour. You _are_ coming to Barcelona.'

He didn't seem happy, but he did seem defeated and that would have to do if they were going to get on a flight tonight. He seemed to look at his own disgusting trainers for a moment before mumbling:

'Well do I at least get to say goodbye … or pack a bag?'

'Pack a bag,' Brendan laughed loudly, forcibly and he saw Steven shrink embarrassedly. 'That's funny.' And seeing the confusion hidden among his uncertainty, Brendan hissed:

'I'm getting you new clothes, Steven. You can't walk into a 5 star hotel in,' he pulled at Steven's disgusting adidas tracksuit, 'this. People will ask questions and we are going to slip under the radar.'

'Right,' he scorned arms folded suspiciously. 'So you're just gonna buy me a new outfit?'

'Exactly,' Brendan nodded and just like that Ste relaxed arms unfolded, face furrowed. Stuff, these lads always wanted to be bought stuff. Macca was the same, Vinnie had been too and all the others before them.

'Starting to see Barcelona's gonna be fun?,' he asked, leaning close to Steven so he could smell the soap he'd used to shower with, and feel the shudder of anticipation. 'Good. Wait here, I'll get the car.'

He pulled away to see the lad nodding silently, looking somewhere between flustered and teary. That exchange had been fun, but, as he saw Macca stood arms crossed at the top of the stairs, he could sense the next exchange wouldn't be.

'What?' he demanded. He wasn't in the mood for some kind of domestic.

'Walker told me.'

'Told you what, Macca? Get to the point, I don't have time for…' he gestured to Macca's almost tears, his stroppy stance, his "love me" attitude '…this.'

'Because you have a plane to catch.'

'Yes.'

'No!' A stamp of the foot. Seriously?

'Is this a riddle?' Brendan asked. He was beyond sympathy. His best man had let him down on a job, he had some Spanish nutter after him and he'd just had to convince Steven to take an opportunity of a lifetime. Macca was coming at a bad time, a trait he usually left to the bedroom.

'I know where you're going.'

'Good, saves me telling you then.' He went to push past, but Macca stuck out an arm to stop him and when Brendan turned to look at his companion, he saw the defiant look on his face:

'I want to come.'

'No.' It was abrupt, it was supposed to say "no questions", but Macca had never been much good at reading between the lines.

'Why not? And don't say it's too dangerous. You always say it's too dangerous!'

'This is a dangerous life,' Brendan shrugged. 'And it _is_ too dangerous.' He tried to push past Macca again, but the little idiot wouldn't let him go. He wasn't angry, he wasn't being defiant. Brendan might have enjoyed that, he just wouldn't move because he was starting to tear up.

'Oh,' Brendan said, but it sounded more exasperated than sympathetic. 'Don't do that. I'd take you if I could, you know that, don't you?'

'So who are you taking? Walker, Warren, Mitzeee?'

'Steven,' Brendan answered. He could have lied, named someone at random from Red Zone, but Macca would have found out eventually and Brendan knew how to bring him round as Macca shouted:

'I knew it. There's something going on, I knew it!'

'You don't know anything, Macca,' he snarled. 'Stop blabbering, come here.' He grabbed Macca by the arm and dragged him upstairs into their bedroom. Macca had stopped crying. He thought he knew where this was heading. Brendan hadn't really been planning that, but he'd oblige the boy if that was what it came to.

'Him, down there, he's expendable to me,' Brendan continued, loudly now that they were out of Steven's earshot. 'I book different tickets on different credit cards through different websites. No will ever suspect that we know each other. If he's got the stuff in his bag and gets stopped going over the border, I keep walking and never look back.' And then the lie that would get him laid and give him peace: 'I couldn't do that to you Macca. I couldn't do it to you.'

::

'We going then?' Steven asked. He was slumped against the wall between the office door and the table displaying Cheryl's ugly vase, playing with a fraying hole in the knee of his tracksuit trousers.

'Patience isn't your strong point, is it Steven?' Brendan muttered. 'You know, sometimes, there's as much pleasure in the build-up as there is in the climax.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm just imparting wisdom,' he smirked, pulling the lad to his feet by his jacket sleeve. 'Here, tickets. You can hold on to them. Don't,' he pointed a finger right in the boy's face, 'lose them.'

Steven took the tickets and studied them closely, mouth moving silently around the words as he tried to read. It took him the whole walk to the car and several minutes of the drive to spot the discrepancy and then he just scowled.

'How come yours is business class and mine is economy, eh?' he asked.

'You've never flown before Steven,' Brendan shrugged, indicating to take a right turn. There was no excuse for poor driving. 'You'll be fine in economy. It's like being on a bus, you'll know all about that. But me, I'm used to a more luxurious kind of life. Besides,' he smiled, glancing to his left to take in Steven's furious expression: 'Look how long my legs are. I'd get cramp in two minutes.'

'Oh right, so are we gonna get to this five star hotel and find out you're in the penthouse and I'm sleeping in the car or something?' Ste demanded.

'Oh no Steven.' He leaned in close. 'We'll be sharing a room.'

* * *

They were late, by thirty minutes. One of Mitzeee's girls had got herself pregnant and all hell had broken lose at the brothel. Talk of protection, money loss and the hilariously suggested "workers' rights". Sometimes Mitzeee wondered why she allowed the girls to watch television. It only ever gave them a false sense of knowledge and as she pointed out to them:

'Watching an episode of Casualty doesn't make you a doctor.'

But now she had to explain this to Brendan and he wouldn't be happy. He liked his business to run like clockwork. The Estate was a huge and very delicately balanced operation. It took precision to run well.

She knocked on his office door and pushed it open. She didn't wait, she'd never waited in her life which had given her an eyeful more than once, but walking in on Brendan and some hapless young man wasn't a surprise to her anymore. What she actually walked in on, was.

'Warren?' she questioned. The man looked up from his position behind the desk. 'You wanna be careful Brendan doesn't catch you sat there, I did it once as a joke and I swear I nearly lost an arm.'

Warren frowned puzzled; or maybe that was his usual expression.

'Long story,' she flapped a hand at him and fixed her hair. 'Where's Brendan?'

'Barcelona.'

'Barcelona!' she exclaimed, hair forgotten. 'Since when?'

'He left about an hour ago,' Warren shrugged. 'I'm in charge, well me and Walker but he's doing the rounds so….' He held out his arms. Mitzeee supposed that he was trying to look important, but he actually just looked like he was missing his partner to re-enact _that _scene from _Titanic_.

'An hour…?' Mitzeee shook her head in horror. 'He went to Barcelona and he didn't take me. Well, mark my words, he'll be getting an earful from me when he gets back.'

'I don't see why,' Warren grimaced. 'You're not his wife, or his girlfriend and for the record, he left her behind and all.' He jerked a thumb towards the wall which attached onto the sitting room. Mitzeee glanced over her shoulder as saw a dejected looking Macca slumped on the sofa tapping away furiously on his phone. An endless stream of love letters to Brendan, no doubt.

'He went alone then?' she asked, quirking her eyebrow. That certainly wasn't like Brendan.

'Of course not,' Warren was almost grinning now.

'So who did he take?'

'I'll give you one guess.'

'Oh,' she smiled, thinking of the latest Blue Zone scally Brendan had set his sights on. Poor boy. 'Oh. Well, I guess I'll be at Central Square then.'

::

Mitzeee sat in Brendan's chair, patio heater on with a box of wine on the table. She quite enjoyed watching her girls milling around the seemingly endless chairs and tables ahead of her picking up their men. It always amazed her how many people Brendan had managed to fool into believing in his madness. But then, Brendan had always had a way of getting everyone to do what he wanted. Her thoughts flicked briefly to that Steven who Brendan had taken to Barcelona and she smiled, poor lad wouldn't know what hit him.

It didn't take long for the crowds to get pretty thin. Most of the men on the estate weren't too picky. There were a few of the crooked accountants in Pink Zone, who liked to have the same woman every time. There were a couple of the stoned-out-of-their-pretty-little-mind junkies in Green Zone, who insisted on finding last week's angel or whatever they'd been hallucinating.

"Hey Mitzeee," one had asked once, in-between admiring the complexity of his own hands and the magic of chair legs, "where's the mermaid I was with last week?"

And then there were the kids in Blue Zone, the occasionally sentimental boys who were too small time for The Estate. Boys who had some twisted fairy tale logic that Mitzeee's girls might remember their names and think of them from time to time; boys like Riley. Mitzeee could feel a dumb grin slipping across her face as she thought of her young man, she really was playing "Brendan" today. She smiled at her own little joke and was just about to pour herself some more wine when her attention was drawn to a slight scuffle down amongst the table.

'No, no. Get off me!'

Mitzeee squinted into the dingy gloom, which was enveloping Central Square. The bouncing blonde hair from her girl was the only thing that was really visible along with the practically translucent reflection of the man's balding head. She strained her ears.

'I've chosen you,' was the gruff response.

'I'm not doing it, find someone else you … thug.'

It was like lightening, it always was with these men. One second, screaming in each other's faces, next second wrist caught in some kind of bone crunching grip and a look in their eye like it could be the last thing you ever see.

'Hey!' Mitzeee yelled, practically tripping down the steps and struggling to keep her step as she made her way across the grass. Brand new, bright pink Walter Steiger's were not the ideal shoe and she found her heal disappearing into the soft Irish mud. She hated this goddamn country! But she ploughed on, literally.

'Hey!' she shouted again. 'What's going on?'

'He's hurting me,' her girl shouted back. Mitzeee could see, now that she got close, that it was that silly, little dreamer she'd taken home last week. She rolled her eyes. This, whatever this situation was, was going to annoy her, she just knew it, but she had some kind of twisted duty of care over her girls so she turned on the balding man.

He had scars on his face that looked like they'd been caused by endless scrapping. He had a tattoo on his neck, a mix of roses and daggers and a tooth missing and another cracked but he was young and didn't look too dirty. It could have been worse for her delicate little princess of a hooker. Still:

'You don't lay on a hand on my girls, you got it!' she warned. 'No get lost, go on and don't let me see you touch another one like that or I'll tell Brendan.'

'You in charge of girl, yes?' He had a thick accent from somewhere on the continent and Mitzeee was once again amazed that Brendan's little set-up at reached so far onto the continent.

'That's right.' She tried to stand tall, she knew that being a woman here could sometimes be a disadvantage, but her heals kept sinking and God hadn't exactly blessed her with the tall genes anyway.

'So you reason girl not sleep with me? What bad whore you have.'

'My girls are the best in Ireland. And they're good at their jobs, not that you're going to find out today.' She pushed herself to the fullest height she could manage and hissed:

'Do one!'

He muttered something in angry Russian, which could only have been an insult and stomped off.

'Thanks,' the girl smiled gratefully.

'Don't.' Mitzeee held up a warning finger towards her. 'Don't. I should fire you on the spot, you stupid girl. What's wrong with you, eh?'

'But he….'

'…is an animal,' Mitzeee finished for her. She could see tears starting in the girl's blue eyes and she just wanted to slap them away, but violence wasn't her thing. Straight-talking, hard-hitting truth, was: 'You're a prostitute, girl. And you get paid to sleep with these animals, so next time, you sleep with them, got it!'

'I can't,' she insisted. 'I couldn't do that to Ste.'

'Who the hell is Ste?'

'He's my…. He's…. We're gonna run away together,' she smiled. And Mitzeee was reminded of that conversation in her car. This was the jumped up fantasist who believe she was in some kind of relationship with that Steven-boy. Brendan's latest play-thing.

'You're wasting your time with that one,' she warned, making a mental note to pay more attention to Steven next time she saw him. He must have had some kind of pull that she'd missed and she wanted to copy it. Mitzeee had spent a lot of her time, and a lot of Brendan's money perfecting her look and attitude so that everyone would fall in love with her the second they saw her and Steven seemed to have managed the same task stomping around wearing nothing more than a scowl and a scruffy tracksuit.

'… we've even talked about marriage,' the girl was sniffing when Mitzeee decided to pay attention to her again. She'd been talking for a while, she'd probably told Mitzeee about some broken home she'd come from, how daddy hadn't loved her enough, how this Steven was the first one who'd made her feel special. Her girls were all the same really at the beginning, they were all the same in the end too. 'I can't be with anyone else now. I can't.'

'Oh,' Mitzeee sighed, pulling a tissue from her handbag and wiping the tears from the girl's cheek. They were stained black with mascara and were leaving ugly grey streaks over her youthful face. 'You silly girl,' she whispered softly.

'I'm worried about him,' she continued, taking the tissue from Mitzeee and trying her own eyes. 'He's never not come here before.'

'Maybe he's coming somewhere else tonight,' Mitzeee shrugged. She saw the girl's face crumple with unshed sadness again. So she spoke before the tears could fall. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you can't fall for a boy from The Estate, you'll only get hurt. Now,' she pushed some of the girl's long hair behind her ear and cupped her face gently, 'get yourself cleaned up. You've still got to work tonight.'

::

Mitzeee had been keeping an eye on Steven's girl. She was sat on a table with her hoody unzipped and her well-trained "come and get me" look on her face, but she kept hiccupping with left over sobs and that wasn't sexy to anyone. But then, looking into the haunted eyes of a girl with a broken heart wasn't sexy either.

'Lost in thought?'

Mitzeee glanced down and saw Riley smiling up at her. He looked young and optimistic and she couldn't help feel she was going to destroy him somehow, but something about the way he looked at her made her feel warm inside.

'Shouldn't you be rearranging your Action Men?' she asked, but she couldn't stop the smile from infecting her bad mood.

'Age joke, really?' he asked. 'I don't remember being too young for you last week.'

'I'm older now,' she shrugged, looking away. Her gaze fell instinctively to Steven's girl and she couldn't help feel she was falling into the same ugly trap of daring to believe, but impulsive, fun-loving Mitzeee had never been much good at taking Anne's advice.

'Me too,' he smiled, practically hurdling the platform and coming to circle her. He placed his hand on the back of her chair … well, Brendan's chair.

'Does Brendan know you sit in his chair when he's not around?'

'Of course.'

'I heard he nearly killed a guy in Red Zone for doing that once.'

'Really?' she smiled. 'What else have you heard about Brendan?' she was genuinely interested. What did his small town of criminals think he was?

'I heard he can just appear out of nowhere, that he knows everything about everyone and he can use it against you … if you don't behave.'

'What about the things he's done.'

'He's a psycho,' Riley shrugged. He was being amazingly frank seeing as everyone on the estate knew how close Mitzeee was to Brendan. 'I heard he was dealing drugs at 10. That he shot his dad at point-blank range and blew up his nana.' His eyes were shining with the thrill of the stories.

'What about since he's been here?' Mitzeee asked. The air around them was charged with static electricity and hearing all the things Brendan was supposed to have done was just the mildest of distractions from how good Riley smelt, and how incredible she knew his body was underneath than shirt and how much she wanted to tear his clothes off.

'He kills you if you cross him in the wrong way, but it's poetic...' He'd crouched down now, lips near her ear, hand on her knee sliding north, taking her dress with it. '… Everything's a show.' The words were like a wet explosion in her ear and she felt herself shudder.

'How do you mean?' she sounded more indifferent than she felt. She was a professional, after all.

'Like the guy in Green Zone that crossed him,' his lips were ghosting across her cheek.

'What did he do to him?'

'Cremated him, sprinkled the ashes into a hundred spliffs and let the Green Zoners smoke him.'

Mitzeee found herself biting the knuckle on her finger to stop from laughing.

'Smoked him?' she asked, not quite able to stop laughing.

'It's not as bad as what happened to the accountant who tried to rat him out to the police?'

'No?' Mitzeee asked. Riley's hand was getting higher and his lips were getting close to hers and she was almost losing interest in the story but then Riley said:

'He mushed him into a pulp and used that to make paper. And the other accountants used it.'

And Mitzeee laughed aloud. She couldn't stop it. 'He sounds psychotic,' she giggled.

'He is,' Riley agreed, leaning in, lips almost touching. 'So if I were you, I wouldn't sit in his chair.'

'So, where would you sit?'

'My place?' he leaned forward. She knew it was coming before he did. She'd been in this situations hundreds of times before and she leant back instinctively.

'Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?'

'I just know what I want,' he said, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. 'And I think I know what you want too.'

And she knew it was an error, and she knew she'd regret it, but she found herself falling to his limited charms again. She lifted her shield and let him in, with nothing more than a:

'Not yours, come with me.'

::

'Well, well, well,' Warren smirked, as Mitzeee came down the stairs into Brendan's sitting room. She'd tidied up her hair as well as she possibly could. She'd tried to limit the amount of make-up that was smudged across her face. She'd taken off her tights so they couldn't see the holes torn in them. But she wasn't stupid enough to think the three men – well, two men and whiney little gay-boy – in Brendan's sitting room, would be fooled.

'Oh, what,' she snarled.

'I thought you didn't do that with the boys around here?' Warren looked like someone had just shown him a bank full of cash with no staff on duty.

'I can't believe you did that in mine and Brendan's room,' was Macca's contribution.

'It's not _your_s and Brendan's room,' she scorned. 'It's Brendan's room. And he wouldn't mind, he does worse in my room.' Then she remembered who she was talking to: 'Did worse, before you came along, Macca sweetie.'

'I don't know,' Warren scowled. 'I tend to agree with young Macca.'

'What?' she cried. 'No one agrees with Macca, ever … not even Brendan.'

She noticed Walker's reaction above the other too, and ill-hidden attempt not to laugh. She'd always liked Walker more than any of Brendan's other cronies. He was intelligent and calm when everything around him was insane and violent. She'd never once felt like he might try and hurt her or worse but he opinion changed on the spot when he said:

'Come on Macca, I don't think this conversation is for our ears.'

'What conversation?' Mitzeee asked, trying not to look as frightened as she felt. She really did not want to be left alone with Warren. Not when he was looking at her like that.

'Well,' and suddenly she hated Walker's calmness, 'you broke the terms of the contract, and there are consequences on The Estate when you break rules.' He held out an arm towards Macca. 'Come on, kid,' he beckoned him over. 'You can help me get the girls on the right busses.'

Mitzeee watched in horror as her only chance of protection strolled towards the double front door. The door opened for a second and she could see the busses, could see the chaos of her girls milling about unsure where to go. They needed her.

'I should go,' she said, smiling uneasily and making her way towards the door. Warren's arm stopped her.

'I don't think so, princess,' he hissed. 'You said you didn't sleep with guys from The Estate, but now we know that that's not true. So it's time you give me what I want.'

'It's not going to happen, Warren,' she said, gritting her teeth defiantly. 'So you can take your grubby little hands away from me.' She ducked to get under his arm but she'd barely even dipped her head before Warren had grabbed her by the arm and all but thrown her against the wall.

'I don't think so,' he hissed, pushing himself close and burying his face into the crook of her neck. 'This time, you're going to give me what I want.'

She was not going to let this happen. She was worth more than this. Mitzeee turned away from him as much as is possible when you're being pinned in position and she saw it. A shiny kind of salvation, the disgusting vase that Cheryl had bought Brendan which he left in pride of place on a table next to his office door. She stretched for it, fingers only just able to clasp the side. Stupid slippery glass. She felt Warren's hand begin to lift the hem of her dress.

'Come on,' she hissed under her breath, arm straining. 'Just a little futher.'

His hands slid higher. The vase began to roll around the table on its base, rocking just ever so slightly.

'Come on,' she repeated. She felt his teeth on her neck felt his hands reaching higher and higher up her thighs. And like a prayer, she whispered: 'Please.'

The vase rocked away from her dangerously, and just as she was about to start cursing, it rocked back with similar force and was finally close enough for her to grab. She snatched it into her small hand and brought it down hard on Warren's head. It smashed, horrid coloured glass shattering over the carpet, getting stuck in his hair. And she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes. She felt like she was breathing for the first time in ages. She felt safe … and then she opened her eyes and saw the situation with fresh eyes.

One of Brendan's best men was lying at her feet, a thin trickle of blood matting his minimal hair and she'd put him there. She'd hurt him and if he'd been planning to hurt her before, what the hell would he do to her when he woke up. She needed help. She needed protection. She needed Brendan.

She screamed.

'Mitzeee,' she glanced to her left. Riley was racing down the stairs towards her. 'Stop screaming.' She hadn't realised she still was. 'What happened?'

'He was going to….' She whispered. 'Have I killed him?'

Riley began to kneel, arm outstretched but it was at that moment that the front door was flung open.

'Warren, bloody hell, can you gag the cow or….' But the rest of the threat died on Walker's tongue as he took in the situation ahead of him. He didn't look angry, or sad, or confused by it. He was just as cold and calculating as ever.

'Right,' he muttered, brushing a hand through his hair. 'What happened?'

'You know what he was going to do to me,' Mitzeee snarled defiantly.

'So you hit him over the head with a vase? Brendan's vase,' he reflected. 'The piece of crap he keeps because it holds so much sentimental value to him.'

Mitzeee opened her mouth, relying on her brain to come up with something brilliant and clever. Some fantastic lie that wouldn't see her get killed before Brendan could come back and protect her. But it turned out she didn't need Brendan any more. She had Riley.

'It wasn't her,' he said quickly. 'I did it. I saw what he was going to do to her and I….'

There was a long pause. Walker didn't take his eyes off Mitzeee. She felt like he was trying to peel the very skin from her body to better stare into her eyes and test whether or not she was lying.

Then he flicked his gaze to Riley and said: 'Leave. Leave The Estate. Leave Ireland. Leave Europe if you have to, but make sure I never see your face again because if I do, Riley Costello….' Mitzeee couldn't help the surprise on the boy's face that Walker knew his name. 'I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?'

'Yes,' Riley muttered. Mitzeee knew his eyes were on her, but she couldn't look. He'd fallen on a sword for her and she couldn't bear to see him suffer now.

'Well … leave,' Walker snapped a little and Riley was suddenly hurrying, out of the door in seconds with nothing but a look over his shoulder and a sorry expression.

'Did you have to do that?' Mitzeee demanded. 'He's got nowhere to go.'

'He got off lightly,' Walker insisted, crouching down and pushing two fingers to Warren's neck. 'Brendan would have killed him, or worse.'

'Brendan wouldn't have left me alone with him,' she glared angrily at Warren's battered body.

'Hmm,' Walker didn't seem fazed. 'He's got a pulse,' he said matter-of-factly. 'But he needs an ambulance.'

'I'll call one.' She wasn't thinking.

'You'll call one,' he repeated with an added sneer. 'And then you can give the address to what's supposed to be a ghost estate and the police can come along and shut the whole place down.'

'You must have a system for this,' she said. 'People get in fights here all the time.'

'We've got a system,' Walker nodded. 'And you're going to have to put it into motion.'

'I don't want him anywhere near me.'

'Well, unfortunately, Brendan is away and Warren is unconscious so I can't leave The Estate.'

'But….'

'I really don't think you're in any position to argue about this,' he sighed. And Mitzeee got the feeling that Walker somehow knew everything that had happened. That he had some kind of omnipresence like he was watching this horrific soap opera unfold on television.

So that was how Mitzeee had found herself driving to the darkest, dodgiest part of Northern Dublin with Warren's barely breathing body, turf him out on the pavement behind a pub and then anonymously call an ambulance. "It's better if you can put on an Irish accent". She hadn't done that, but she'd managed a Californian accent and it was pretty believable; she was a future singer/actress/model/reality TV star/ presenter after all.

Then she'd just driven away. It wasn't until she reached her little flat in Temple Bar that the reality of what had happened that evening hit her. She felt a bit ill, and she found herself drinking whiskey instead of wine and wishing her best friend was there with some unhelpful almost spiteful comment that would make her remember that this was just another hurdle to overcome.

'You gonna sit around here feeling sorry for yourself, Anne,' she told herself. 'Pick yourself up, girl. Life goes on.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	13. Barcelona Un

Barcelona was amazing. The hotel was amazing. The bellboy, who'd taken their stuff to the room, was amazing. And now they were walking down The Portal de l'Àngel which was, well:

'Amazing.'

'So you've said,' Brendan muttered and when Ste looked over to him, he noticed the man was smiling at him. It seemed genuine and warm, but maybe that was just the effect of seeing some sun for the first time in god knew how long, even if that sun was weak and wintery.

'Are you sure you wanna buy me clothes from here?' Ste asked, glancing at the prices in the nearest shop window. It was all written in foreign and Euros meant nothing to him, but there still seemed to be a lot of numbers after the "€" symbol.

'Well you can't very well go around in a place like this, wearing a thing like that,' Brendan pointed to Ste's tracksuit, 'can you?'

'It is a bit cold actually,' Ste agreed. He hadn't realised that it could be both sunny and cold at the same time. In Chester it had always been grey when it was cold and in Ireland it just rained when it was cold, and when it was warm, and all the time in between.

'Mmm,' Brendan mumbled a half-agreement. 'Here.' Ste felt a big hand reach out and grip his shoulder. 'This shop'll do.'

'Here?' Ste looked up at the shop. It was the poshest place he'd ever seen. Even posher than the big M&S in Chester. 'Are you sure?'

Brendan just nodded, hand still on Ste's shoulder guiding him towards the shop. 'Three days, three outfits. Anything you want. No rules. Well….' Ste glance over his shoulder at him. Brendan seemed younger somehow, less stressed, less under pressure. 'One rule.'

'And what's that?'

'No tracksuits,' and there was almost a laugh in his words, not a put-on maniacal laugh, a genuine little chuckle. And it made Ste grin and say:

'Shut up.'

Before rushing into the shop.

* * *

Brendan was interested to see what Steven would pick off the shelves. He had an idea about him. A way he thought the boy might look if money wasn't an obstacle. There was something about his hair, shaved at the sides and almost a quiff on the top that made Brendan think that tracksuits wouldn't really be his outfit of choice if he managed to give a damn about his personal appearance for five seconds – if he was trying to make an effort.

His theory was soon proved correct.

'Right,' Steven's voice came from behind one of the big silk curtains that led off this circular room towards the separate, low lit changing rooms. 'You can't laugh.'

'I won't,' Brendan said, but he wasn't sure that was the truth.

'Promise.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' he dismissed him. It was not for Steven to give him orders. He'd laugh if he bloody wanted to.

The curtain opened and in front of him stood a highly-fashionable, sharp-featured young man with an uncertain smile and a nervous stance. His white trousers were tight and showed off his skinny legs, his white shirt was mostly hidden by the pale blue checked blazer, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked … preppy; like his mother might call all her friends "darling" and like his dad probably liked to hunt pheasants in winter.

Brendan must have been staring because Steven began to squirm uncomfortably.

'What's wrong?' he mumbled, gaze dropping embarrassedly to the golden carpet. 'I think I'd rather you laugh than just-.'

'You look good,' Brendan interrupted.

'Yeah?' he smiled weakly. 'I've got two more outfits. One's a bit more casual, like, and … do you think we'll be going somewhere posh or anything? 'Cause then I might need a suit.'

'You won't need a suit,' Brendan assured him. He was beginning to wonder if Steven would need _any_ clothes on this holiday if he insisted on looking that good.

'Right,' he nodded. 'I'll go and try one of the other outfits on then.'

'Mm-hmm.' Brendan nodded, checking his watch. He didn't actually have any other plans, but it wouldn't do for Steven to think Brendan was happy to sit around and wait for him to change in and out of outfits all day.

Truth was, Brendan had had plenty of experience sitting outside changing rooms for hours on end. It had happened when he'd taken Anne to London, and when he'd taken her to Paris, and Millan. She even managed to get him to sit around in Belfast while she shopped. That had been his penance for making her pretend to be his girlfriend for the tenth year in a row when he visited his sister. This was better. Anne always opened the curtains to reveal a short dress and lots of cleavage which made Brendan feel … nothing. Whereas Steven, well….

'Right, outfit two.' Steven opened up the curtain again. This time it was dark chinos turned up showing of his ankles, and a patterned shirt. 'Good?'

'Good,' Brendan nodded his approval. The last outfit was similar and as Steven wandered around showing off his final choice, Brendan heard himself asking:

'Who helped you pick these?'

'Nobody,' Steven replied, pulling at his scarf and jacket. 'They kept speaking foreign at me so I just picked it meself.' Then he turned to look at Brendan. His third shirt really brought out his eyes, they seemed bluer than ever. 'Look, are you sure about this? 'Cause it's really expensive, this jacket, or at least I think it's expensive.' He squinted at the jacket's tag. 'And I don't wanna, you know….'

But Brendan didn't know, so he waited until Steven finished his sentence:

'I don't wanna owe you.'

'Oh Steven, you don't owe me,' Brendan said calmly, getting to his feet and going to stand behind the boy. He slotted himself behind the smaller man so he could look over his shoulder at the mirror. Staring back were a sophisticated couple; a rich business man and his spoilt toy-boy. 'I give you a home, food, girls, clothes, a trip to Barcelona.' He tilted his head so his lips were close to Steven's cheek. He felt the air between them pulse as Steven tried to repress a shiver. 'I own you.'

He watched mirror-Steven's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed anxiously.

'And now,' he added, running a hand up the side of Steven's shirt, 'I also own your clothes.'

He could hear Steven's uneasy breathing, deep and stuttering.

''Cause I bought them, just for you.'

'Th-thank you,' he stammered. He was starting to turn the palest shade of pink and Brendan couldn't help feel amused. Steven was so easy. He only had to get close and the lad melted into a puddle of useless.

A forced little cough from behind them distracted Brendan from his fun game of Steven-torture.

'Err, are you finish, Senyor i … Senyor?'

'Yes … thank you,' Brendan forced a smile. 'Do I pay the counter?'

'Sí, Senyor,' the assistant nodded.

'Excellent. Steven will wear this outfit out,' Brendan said firmly. 'And,' he marched into the changing room and found the disgusting navy tracksuit crumpled on the floor. He picked it up, holding it at arm's length. Who knew what kind of germs were crawling around on it? And dumped it into the assistant's arms. 'You can put this in a rubbish bag for us to take.'

'Hey,' Steven tried to protest, but something seemed to be choking his usual aggression back a little. 'That's my best tracksuit, that.'

'You have new clothes now,' Brendan insisted. 'Real clothes, clothes that make you seem like you might be able to function in decent society.'

'But-'

'Where do I pay?' Brendan asked the assistant. He was bored now. It was time to leave the shop and do something else.

::

Steven had proved pretty popular around the Eixample region of Barcelona. His coffee had come with extra cream and an extra complimentary biscuit. His tapas had arrived on plates twice as big as everyone else's. And his mangled "grassy-ass" thank-yous were earning him a wink and a smile.

It was Brendan's fault really. He'd chosen to stay in the gay capital of Barcelona. His job was on the other side of the city, but he felt a strange kind of comfortable here and he'd always liked the way the boys stared at him. It had made Anne jealous, it had made Macca jealous. But it seemed Brendan was old news now that Steven had put some shampoo through his hair and donned a pair of chinos. Not that Steven noticed, he just seemed to think that:

'People are dead nice in Barcelona, aren't they?'

'Mmm.'

'See that bloke over there.' He nodded his head towards a man sat a few tables away with a pink cocktail in his hand. He was wearing tight jeans and a thin white shirt that he'd only managed to fasten one button of and he smiled when he saw them looking over.

'He bought me this drink.' Steven put his own cocktail on the table ahead of him. 'I got to the bar and the bartenders stood with it in his hand just waiting for me.' He took a sip and nodded. 'It's nice that. Do you wanna try some?'

'No.'

Steven took another sip and glanced over to the man who'd bought it, pointing to his glass and giving the guy a thumbs up. Brendan just shook his head, smirk spreading over his face. This lad had the potential to be endless fun.

'You'd never get it in England, that,' Steven continued. He was talking a lot, it was probably all the free cocktails. ''Cause we just hate anything foreign, don't we? Like I've only been abroad once, right. Me mum and step-dad took me when I was dead young and we went to the Cost da summut.'

'Costa del Sol,' Brendan guessed. He couldn't help himself.

'That's the one.' He took the strawberry that was decorating his glass off and placed it in his mouth. 'And it was just like being in Blackpool, except warmer … and the sea was blue. Even when we're abroad we've gotta change all the foreign and make it English.'

'Maybe you needed the sophistication of an Irishman to show you the real Spain.'

'Is the Cost de sul in Spain then?'

Brendan didn't even bother to correct his pronunciation this time. He just pursed his lips and nodded.

'Here,' Steven's attention was drawn back to the man with the ill-fitting shirt. 'He keeps looking over. Do you think I should go and say "grassy-ass"? He probably thinks I'm well rude, doesn't he?'

'Probably,' Brendan nodded. 'But I don't think it's your grassy-ass he's after. I think it's just your ass.'

'What are you talking about?' He looked genuinely confused. Damn, he should have just let him go over there.

'He fancies you, Steven.'

Brendan took a long swig of his beer and watched the information sink in. Steven was the kind of person who wore every thought and emotion on his face, telegraphing every feeling to the world.

'No,' he said eventually.

'For God's sake, look at what he's wearing.'

'He's Spanish!'

'Fine,' Brendan shrugged. 'Then you go over there and thank him for that nice, wee, pink cocktail he bought you. See if there isn't a way you can pay him back.'

Steven suddenly stared at the drink like it was poisonous and slid it away from him.

'I don't think I'm thirsty anymore, me.'

'Funny that,' Brendan smirked, looking over his own shoulder to get a better look at the guy. He was a good looking guy, nice abs and bronzed skin, but he was clearly a tool. It couldn't have been more than about 7° or 8° and even though he was under the red glow of the patio heater, it wasn't hot enough for that outfit. Still, Brendan thought had he been here with Anne, he would have sent her away by now and gone over to see what was going to come of the evening. Shame the guy didn't have any kind of interest in him really.

'Do you fancy him?' Steven asked, drawing his attention back to their table.

'He's not my type,' Brendan shrugged, which was almost the truth.

' 'Cause I could stay in a hostel or something if you….'

'He's not my type,' Brendan insisted. 'Anyway, I've got Macca.'

'Oh yeah, course.' Then he glanced over Brendan's shoulder and fear seemed to invade his eyes. 'Crap, he's coming over.'

'Maybe he misread the thumbs up,' Brendan suggested sitting back in his chair and taking a long swig of his beer. This was going to be fun.

The guy ignored Brendan completely, he walked straight past and sat casually on the table ahead of Steven and began blabbing away in Catalan.

'Oh,' Steven shook his head. 'Me,' he pointed to himself. 'No Spanish.'

The guy just shrugged. 'Me, no English.'

'Well,' Steven gave a strangled kind of smile and pulled at his ear nervously. 'I guess we'll have to leave it there then.'

'¿Què?'

'Er,' Steven moved to plan "B", which seemed to be talking slower and infinitely louder. 'Grassy-ass for the drink.' Brendan couldn't see much of the Spaniard, but he could tell that he was nodding. 'But I don't want sex with you.'

'Sexe, si.'

'No,' Steven almost shouted. 'No sex. 'Cause, I'm not gay, me.'

'Gai, si.' He spouted something else and held out his hand to Steven. Steven just stared at it like it was made of broken glass and needles.

'I don't know what you're saying,' Steven almost shouted. He was in a blind panic. It was like he couldn't see the funny side of the situation, which was a shame because Brendan had really been enjoying it. But he knew he'd have to jump in at some point, and this seemed as good a time as any.

'Oh, you should have said, Steven,' he said calmly. 'He's asking you to go back to his place.'

'You can speak Spanish!' Steven growled.

'No,' Brendan said honestly, putting his now empty beer bottle on the table. 'But I do speak a little Catalan, which,' he put a hand on the Barcelonan's shoulder, 'is what your young friend here is speaking.'

'So tell him I'm not gay.' He was almost frantic, which was fun.

'Oh, Steven.' Brendan shook his head firmly. 'Don't ask me to lie to the wee fella.'

'It's not a lie. Look Brendan,' he was furious now, talking slightly too loud, causing the locals to take brief glances over towards them. 'I don't know what twisted idea you've got in your head, right. But I'm not gay! I like Rae.'

Brendan considered the outburst for a moment. He considered the angry look on the boy's face, contrasted his words with every single betraying shudder and blush the boy had afforded him when he got close and he nodded once curtly.

'Fine,' he said. 'I'll tell him.' Then he turned to the tool not quite in a shirt and spoke. To Steven, it would have sounded like the vowel-heavy yapping of the Catalan language, but to everyone else it sounded like:

'_He says he can't. He's got gonorrhoea and crabs … lots of them. And he's waiting for the results from a chlamydia test_.'

The man turned to Steven, looked the lad up and down and asked:

'¿En realitat?'

'Nod Steven,' Brendan encouraged and the boy just did as he was told, agreeing unknowingly to everything Brendan had just said. 'Good boy,' he muttered under his breath, picking up the discarded pink cocktail and taking a long sip.

::

'What did you say to them right?' Steven had been pretty persistent about this since they'd left the cocktail bar. They were back at the hotel now stood in the lift, heading for the penthouse and Steven hadn't once managed to distract himself from his persistent questioning to tell him how "amazing" everything was.

'I told you what I said.' Brendan shrugged. He hadn't. He'd told him what Steven had wanted him to say.

'But they all looked at me like I was diseased.'

Brendan tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh at his choice of words but when Steven shot him with a suspicious glare he sobered up and said:

'It's a gay area, Steven. They don't want you if you think you're straight.'

'And that's another thing.' He really was on one tonight. He was getting too confident. This was a common trait of his when alcohol was poured into his blood stream. 'Stop going on saying that I'm gay right. You do it all the time, and I ain't. 'Cause I had no idea about that guy hitting on me, did I? So that just proves I'm not gay.'

'Does it?'

'No more, thinking I am, right,' he insisted. 'No more….' He trailed off, cheeks reddening just slightly and Brendan wondered what he could possibly be thinking. 'Just "no",' he finished. It was then that the lift doors opened showing them the room for the first time, and more importantly, showing them the double bed, which sat pride of place in the centre of the room.

Steven turned to glare at him; pure hatred in his eyes and Brendan found himself shrugging:

'Oops.'

* * *

'I ain't sleeping in there with you,' Ste said for the umpteenth time. He felt like a glitchy CD, constantly jumping back to repeat himself.

'No one's forcing you into bed with me, Steven,' Brendan shrugged. But he was already in the bed. He'd sort of snuck himself in, whilst Ste was stamping around protesting the situation and trying to ask for a different room, to which Brendan had replied: "Haven't I spent enough on you today?" and Ste's guilt at the money Brendan had spent on his clothes had shamed him into almost-silence.

'Oh yeah, except you booked a room with a double bed.'

'Well, to be honest,' Brendan said. 'I thought you'd be sleeping on the sofa.' Ste's eyes were drawn to the biggish white and mahogany furniture, creating a kind of make-shift living area near the balcony door. 'You were the one who assumed we were going to share the bed.'

No. No. That wasn't true, was it? Brendan had said that they were going to…. No, wait. Now that he thought about it, Brendan hadn't actually said much at all. Ste had been the one talking. Brendan had just been stripping down to his underwear and slipping under the covers.

'No,' his thoughts started to fall out of his lips. 'Because you…. Anyway,' he changed tact as soon as he thought of it. 'That's not fair, that.'

'_Life's_ not fair_, _Steven.'

Ste wasn't sure what had come over him. He was angrier than he'd been for months. Maybe it was the injustice of Brendan lying in that comfy bed whilst Ste was supposed to slum it on the sofa. Maybe it was that Ste might very well have had the best day of his life and the evening was ruining it. Maybe it was that a few too many, apparently gay, men had been buying him free cocktails and giving him sugary treats all day. Maybe it was just his reckless idiocy forcing him, as always, into stupid situations. He reached down, grabbed the duvet and yanked it off the bed, scattering pointless decorative pillows all over the room and leaving Brendan covered by nothing but his boxers.

'What are you doing!' Brendan leapt to his feet. He looked furious and Ste was sure his face was going to take a pummling, but he'd come this far, he might as well carry on.

'You think you can push me around because you're bigger than me? Because you're clever, and dangerous you got all this money and you wear expensive suits and-'

'I'm confused,' Brendan interrupted his rant. 'Are you insulting me? Or flirting with me?'

'Argh!' Ste yelled, kicking out at one of the cushions and sending it flying across the room. It didn't help. He was so angry he wanted to scream. He felt like his mind was spinning faster and faster blurring the world in a furious mess and he couldn't quite distinguish hate from his other emotions.

'You're fiery,' was all Brendan said. Ste had been in enough fights to notice the way Brendan was posed, leaning slightly forward. He was ready to fight but he wasn't inviting it, not yet. 'I like that. But I got to be honest Steven, it just feels like there's a little too much tension in this room.'

'And whose fault is that then, eh?' he yelled. It was meant to sound like an accusation but it just came out as a genuine question.

'Tell you what,' Brendan said. 'I'm gonna let you hit me.'

'What! Why?' It felt like a trap.

'To get rid of this tension, obviously.' He put his arms out sideways. 'Come on, one punch. You'll feel better, won't you?' Ste shook his head. 'Come on,' he encouraged. And then he yelled: 'Come on!'

Ste ran at him, fist up ready to purple his eye, or fatten his lips or split his cheek. So why was he kissing him? And why was he allowing himself to be lifted up and thrown onto the bed? And why was he unbuttoning his own shirt? And why wasn't he trying to stop it? And why was kissing back harder than he ever thought he could? And why did he want it more than he'd ever wanted anything before?

* * *

Brendan could almost feel Steven watching him. He knew the lad was sat up, leaning his back against the head board. He'd gone over all shy now. He'd pulled the duvet off the floor and covered himself up to the bellybutton. He'd half covered Brendan too, but the angle was a bit awkward because Brendan was lying down, head turned away.

'I wasn't expecting that,' Steven said eventually. The duvet was moving just slightly as Steven picked at it nervously.

'I was,' he mumbled under his breath, because wasn't this exactly what he'd been planning ever since that night at O'Shaughnessy's club in Dublin? Yet, it still felt surprising somehow.

'What?' He obviously hadn't heard.

'I said, me neither.' Brendan turned over just slightly so he could look up at the lad. He was a skinny thing really, looked like he'd crumble if you put too much pressure on him, but he was tougher than he looked. Brendan hadn't been expecting that.

'I've never done nothing like that before, me,' he said. He was still flushed from the power and excitement of it all. ''Cause I'm straight normally, you know.'

'So you keep saying,' he mumbled. He was too tired to really open his mouth properly to speak. He was almost worn out. He hadn't had a night like that for a long time. Steven was fierier than Macca had ever been, less willing to just give in to Brendan's every whim, stronger than he'd thought, more demanding than he'd imagined. He hadn't expected any of that either.

'Hey,' Steven smiled sheepishly. 'It was good though, weren't it?' Brendan thought it was better than he'd had in a long time. They'd been a strange kind of equal, despite their positions. He certainly hadn't expected that.

'Mmm.'

'What? Weren't it?' Steven's face shrouded with embarrassment. 'Cause I'm not really sure how it's meant to go, me and-'

'It was good, Steven,' Brendan said firmly, rolling away from the lad and closing his eyes. 'Now, go to sleep. It's getting late.' He actually had no idea what the time was. Though he suspected it might have been getting early rather than late. Steven only managed to be quiet for a few seconds, before Brendan felt a hand on his shoulder and a pleading voice say:

'You won't tell anyone about this … when we get back, I mean. Different postcode and all that?'

Brendan said nothing, partly because he was too tired to try and partly because he liked to make the boy writhe; he didn't mind how he did it.

'Course you won't,' Steven's nervous voice sounded again. 'You've got Macca to think of, haven't you? And I've got Rae, so I guess this was a one off thing, wasn't it?'

Ste shook him gently by the shoulder.

'Brendan.'

Silence. He was asleep.

'Brendan.'

Silence. He really was asleep.

'Brendan.'

'You talk a lot, don't you?' Fine, he wasn't asleep.

He rolled onto his back and tried to glare at the young man. It was a bit too dark in the room to get a good affect, but he'd sounded angry, so that would do.

'Oh … sorry.'

'It's alright.' Honesty was his biggest weakness at times like this, times when he was too tired to think of lies. 'I like listening to your thoughts, it's simpler than listening to mine.'

'Is that a dig? Is it?' Steven demanded, he was somewhere between angry and amused.

'Careful Steven,' he warned. 'You know what happens when we fight.'

It turned out, it didn't only happen when they fought. It happened after they'd been to see the Sant Paul del Camp cathedral. It happened after they spent the afternoon at the sauna. It happened after their evening meal and twice on the balcony under the stars. It happened in the morning, in the evening and some of the time in between.

'Where are you going?' Steven asked. His hair was everywhere, face flushed but he had a look in his eyes that suggested he wouldn't have said "no". He must have been aching by now. Brendan sure as hell was. He couldn't remember the last time it had been this rough, this intense and this … frequent. Steven looked like he wanted it all the time and not the same way Macca did. Macca wanted it because it made him feel special. Steven just wanted it. And unlike with Macca, Brendan wanted to give it all the time.

But not now. He had to go and meet one of Iago's lackeys and finalise the deal. This was the whole reason he was in Barcelona in the first place. So he pulled on his trousers for the first time in hours and said:

'It's work.'

'Oh … well, do you want me to come?'

'You?' he laughed a little. He couldn't help it. 'What are you going to do?'

'I dunno,' he shrugged, flushed for a different reason now. 'I could wear one of me new outfits and say I'm your back-up or something.'

'My back up?' Brendan quirked an eyebrow, leaning on the bed and beginning to walk his hands towards the lad. 'Honestly Steven, if I needed back up a scrawny little chicken armed man-boy like you would be the last person I'd call.'

'Alright, I was just saying,' he scowled. He didn't whine or pout, like a woman. He got angry like a man. Brendan liked that.

'You,' Brendan continued, he was close enough to push his lips to the corner of Steven's mouth. 'You have plenty of other uses.' He kissed him again, this time full on the lips but he resisted taking it further … just. He really did need to go.

'I'll see you later, okay?'

'Wait,' Steven said, grabbing a cushion and cuddling it in front of him. He had this horrible habit of covering himself up. 'What am I supposed to do while you're out, eh? Just sit here and wait for you.'

'Do whatever you want, Steven,' Brendan shrugged. 'Get out and see the city, take in the sites. You don't want to get back to Ireland and have to tell your mates you saw nothing more than the hotel room.'

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**x**


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